Back to Black
by sakurazukamori
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy reflects on her years at Hogwarts and on meeting the one man who would inexplicably change her life... for better or for worse. A Slytherin, Deatheater flashback fic. Read about the angst, drama and romance of our future Deatheaters. NMxLM
1. Chapter 1: Pride :in the name of Love:

_Howdy, my third H.P fic. This is based on Narcissa Malfoy and her escapades at Hogwarts. I had so much fun writing this... I was going to make it single standing but I think I'll break up into two parts. R/R! _Characters are copyrighted to J.K Rowling.

**.:Chapter 1:.**

Narcissa Malfoy sat gracefully brushing out her long golden hair in front of the ornate mahogany dressing table – a most welcome wedding gift. Her hair was like spun gold, shimmering in the glow of the soft candlelight...yet subtly intermingled with her golden locks was a strand of grey. A frown creased the delicate complexion of the blonde beauty as she plucked the troublesome strand from its flaxen counterparts. Her deep blue eyes studied the grey hair in disgust in the same way one would regard excrement on one's boot. This grey hair was an imperfection and imperfections were not tolerated in the Malfoy family. Narcissa snatched the hair up in a clenched fist, feeling the sting of old age prick her all over...if there was one thing Narcissa could ever, would ever be scared of, it would be old age. Old age signified uncertainty, deterioration and worst of all loss...loss of the things most dear to her. Her impossible cobalt eyes glanced towards a silver framed picture of a handsome youth with silver-blonde hair and cold blue-grey eyes. His tall frame was clad in black robes, the Slytherin sigil emblazoned over his heart. A slight smile tugged at the corners of Narcissa's rosebud mouth as she reached over to pick up the picture. The frame was gilded silver engraved with emerald eyed serpents writhing about the photo it encased. Her son was so like his father when he was that age... the same arrogant personality and that same commanding demeanour that had women kissing the ground he walked on. Narcissa allowed a smile to gently break across her serious countenance as she recollected some of the more memorable events of her tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; events that would change her life for better and for worse.

* * *

"Merlin, Cissa!" exclaimed an exasperated Bellatrix Black. "Are you ready yet?" 

"In a second," came the hurried reply.

"Ugh, you said that ten minutes ago! You know I can't stand waiting," rasped her sister irately. "I was supposed to meet Rodolphus ages ago!"

Bellatrix Black ran an impatient hand through her raven-black hair. Rolling her dark almond-shaped eyes, she began to pace up and down outside her sister's room. Bellatrix never waited for anybody...she was tempted just to leave her sister behind and go to Hogsmeade without her.

"Look Narcissa, I'm going," started Bellatrix. "I'm...

However, before she could finish, the oak door swung open revealing a rather impeccably turned out Narcissa Black. Her golden hair trailed down her back, tussling softly around her shoulders while her piercing blue eyes appeared as sapphires set on snow. On first glance, it would be forgivable to suggest that, due to their differing appearances, Bellatrix and Narcissa could in no way be sisters; Bellatrix with her dark aristocratic good looks, Narcissa with the unearthly beauty of a fragile ice maiden. It was rumoured that somewhere in the Black tree resided Veela blood; if this was the case then Narcissa was definitely blessed with its ethereal beauty.

"Ready," cut in Narcissa. "I'm ready."

"About time," scowled Bellatrix.

The two Slytherin girls started down the spiralling staircase from the girl's dormitories towards the common room. Bellatrix, naturally, led the way down ahead of her sister; such was the way of a Slytherin prefect, especially one of her standing. Although, she was only in her fifth year, Bellatrix was a force to be reckoned with...

"Hey Bella," smiled a rather plump Slytherin girl. "You're looking great!"

Bellatrix turned and looked at Narcissa, both girls burst out laughing.

"I know I look great," drawled Bellatrix arrogantly. "I don't need someone like you telling me I am,"

"I...I was just being p-polite," stuttered the Slytherin.

"W-w-well, d-don't," mimicked Bellatrix cruelly. "Now get out of my way."

The young Slytherin girl hurried past the two sisters, tears welling in her eyes.

"Circe, I hate people like that," snarled Bellatrix.

Narcissa simply shrugged her shoulders. Unlike her sister, Narcissa was not the type to openly humiliate people; she preferred the more subtle approach: manipulation.

"Tut, tut Miss Black," drawled a soft, cool voice. "Must you _continually_ insult all our less fortunate peers? That poor, _poor_ girl."

A tall blonde haired youth leaned idly against the wall adjoining the stair way to the common room, his arms folded across his chest.

"What's this?" countered Bellatrix, her dark eyes flashing. "Lucius the Compassionate? Say it isn't so."

Lucius merely allowed a slight smirk to pass across his curved lips. Unlike Bellatrix, Lucius Malfoy was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He carried an air of arrogance and egoism, not unexpected of a Slytherin prefect and certainly not unexpected of the heir of Malfoy.

Narcissa allowed herself a moment to study the features of the handsome prefect while her sister engaged him in a conversation about the whereabouts of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"All I know is that the damned upstart should have attended Quidditch practice this morning," Lucius replied obstinately. "He'll do well to remember that we have a match soon... against Gryffindor no less."

She had never seen the young Malfoy this close, only from afar and, of course, everyone had heard all the gossip about his, as the Slytherins girls put it, _amazing _good looks but, in the end, she wanted to judge for herself. Both his hair and his eyes were his most distinguishing features. His well kept mane of white-blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, deliberately allowing stray locks to frame his angular face. His skin was deathly white, unblemished by the usual teenage complaints; however, it was his steely eyes that truly caught Narcissa's attention...so cold yet so profound.

"Bellatrix Black, how rude of you not to introduce me to your friend," interrupted Lucius, startling Narcissa who had realised she had begun to stare.

"Interrupt me why don't you?" retorted Bellatrix angrily. "I was just about to say..."

"Something that doesn't explain why you haven't introduced me to your friend," cut in Lucius quickly.

"Ugh, fine...Lucius Malfoy, this is my sister Nar-,"

"Narcissa...Narcissa Black," interjected her sister coolly.

"_This _is the infamous Bellatrix Black's younger sister?" replied Lucius amusedly, his eyes studying her. "Well, it is a _pleasure_ to have made your acquaintance, Miss Black."

Narcissa felt a rush of blood heading towards her cheeks but somehow she miraculously managed to retain her icy, emotionless exterior. She would not allow the, already, inflated ego of the Malfoy heir to grow any bigger by letting him see her blush. She met his eyes with the frostiest glance she could muster and nodded her head, allowing several golden locks to fall across her face.

"A girl of few words," smiled Malfoy. "How completely unlike you, Bellatrix."

"Oh, how well you know me Lucius," Bellatrix sneered sarcastically.

"Well, it _is _a subject I take pride in knowing a great deal about," retorted Lucius slyly, a coy grin toying with the corners of his mouth.

Narcissa glanced from her sister to the captain of the Slytherin team; there was something more that just Slytherin camaraderie between the two prefects. Jealousy left a bitter taste in the mouth of the younger Black sister, a taste she hadn't experienced in a long time.

"As much as I'd love to sit and play sardonic table tennis with you, Bellatrix, I must take my leave," Lucius sighed sarcastically.

"Good riddance," countered Bellatrix, flashing him a sly smile.

Lucius raised his eyebrows suggestively, a seductive grin creeping across his lips.

"Good riddance, hm?" mused Lucius. "I may have to_ severely_ reprimand you for disrespecting your elders, Black."

"Really? I'm positively petrified," replied Bellatrix acerbically.

Lucius once again, allowed only a slight smile to grace his flushed lips; he was far more intrigued by the quieter Black girl than the flirtations of her overtly confident sister. There was something about this Narcissa Black; something intangible even, that, somehow, prevented her from becoming other one of those unremarkable wallflowers. The girl was truly an enigma, so cold and distant... It was almost as if she had shielded herself behind a wall of ice, refusing to let anyone in.

"Bellatrix, you never cease to amaze me with your incessant sarcasm," Lucius sighed, he then turned to face Narcissa. "Until next time then... Narcissa Black."

He gave her a slight nod of his head, and headed towards the Slytherin common room. Narcissa allowed her cheeks to flush, her hair falling across her face, shielding her from her sister's eyes. If her sister saw her blushing then she would immediately jump to the wrong conclusion... not that there was any conclusion to jump to, of course. He was in sixth year and she was only in her third... nothing could ever happen, much to Narcissa's dismay.

The two girls walked into the common room where both were greeted by their respective friendship groups.

"Well, well if isn't the Serpentine Queen herself," greeted a thin, dark haired youth, his voice drenched in amused sarcasm. "Another fashionably late appearance?"

"Of course," replied Bellatrix tossing her hair, a smug smile plastered across her face, "Would you expect any less, Rodolphus?"

"Not from you," smiled Rodolphus Lestrange, "Definitely not from you."

Rodolphus Lestrange was a fifth year prefect and Slytherin House's Seeker. His lithe frame and newly acquired Nimbus 1000 broomstick made him one of the most dangerous players on the Quidditch pitch. However, his real talent lay in Defence Against the Dark Arts...or more than likely the Dark Arts themselves. Both he and his brother, Rabastan Lestrange, had an unusual fondness for the most obscure books...books that were not even permitted in the restricted section of Hogwarts' Library.

* * *

"_Where do you get all these from?" Bellatrix had muttered, her hands sifting through piles of old leather bound books and manuscripts._

"_Penfriend at Durmstrang," Rodolphus had replied coquettishly, arranging the old tomes in chronological order. "...Name's, Antonin Dolohov."_

"_Dolohov... sounds familiar," muttered Bellatrix as she studied a page about the known effects of the Cruciatus curse._

"_Probably because his parents are banged up in Azkaban...It was all over the Daily Prophet about a year ago." Lestrange sighed. "Something about the use of an Unforgivable Curse on a family of mudbloods."_

_Bellatrix looked up from the ancient text, her dark eyes narrowed menacingly._

"_Serves them right," she scowled, "They got what was coming to them...filthy mudbloods."_

"_Bellatrix Black, I couldn't agree more," grinned Rodolphus Lestrange, his blue eyes flashing amber in the flickering candlelight._

* * *

End of Ch.1. Did you enjoy? Hope so... o.O Well give me a review and I'll put the second half up soon. 


	2. Chapter 2: Behind Blue Eyes

_Did you like Chapter 1? Well, this is the concluding part  I might write further stories about Narcissa over Xmas...depending on evil Uni workload. Anyway, hope you like..._Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

.:Chapter 2:.

Narcissa watched as her sister and Rodolphus slumped on to the dragon hide couches, waiting for the rest of their group. They had begun a rather animated conversation about how unfair it was Durmstrang taught Dark Arts and Hogwarts did not. This kind of conversation always came up in Slytherin House yet it bored Narcissa, who was far more fascinated by Potions... especially poisons – unlike most of the Dark Arts, Potions required subtlety, rather than forceful, direct action.

"How d'ya find the Potions essay, Cissa?" enquired a fellow third year student, who had planted himself next to her on a leather couch.

"Pretty easy actually," replied Narcissa off-handishly. "Why?"

"Well, erm, you see... I was wondering whether you could, um..." began the Slytherin youth.

"Do your homework for you?" cut in Narcissa, her indigo eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is that it?"

"No, no, not that," he protested. "Not at all..."

"Then what, Rookwood?" challenged Narcissa.

"I was wondering if you might be able to help me..." blurted out Rookwood, his hand nervously itching the back of his head.

"If you want help, then go ask Professor Eltanin for remedial Potions lessons!" retorted Narcissa coldly. "Your pathetic performance in lessons warrants them, believe me."

Rodolphus Lestrange let out a derisive cackle that filled the whole of the Slytherin Common room.

"You Black girls," he sniggered, rolling his eyes. "You give your own House mates such a hard time."

"And?" replied Bellatrix, an air of arrogance infusing her retort.

Rodolphus' eyes glanced from Bellatrix to Narcissa and back again. Both Black sisters had their arms folded across their chests, their eyes boring holes into him. For once, the young Lestrange was speechless.

"Ha-ha, Lestrange! She got you there!" Augustus Rookwood chuckled uneasily.

"Hey, Rookwood, I'm not the one who has to take remedial Potions," shot back Rodolphus Lestrange, malice drenching every word. "So, if I were you, I'd keep your mouth shut before you say something you'll soon enough regret."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes in boredom. Slytherin House was full of rivalry and disagreement, mostly fuelled by the ambition of the students. Sometimes, however, it got to the point of being ridiculous... even Bellatrix could admit to that.

"Are you finished already?" she sighed dramatically.

"For now," muttered Rodolphus, his temper clearly enraged by the third year Slytherin.

"Merlin, Rodolphus," groaned a familiar voice. "You and your temper."

A tall sixth year strolled into the common room, his dark hair slicked back from his face. He cocked his head to the side and gave the young Lestrange a 'tut tut', his striking emerald eyes rolling to the ceiling.

"Rabastan... I don't need you telling me how to control my temper," snapped Rodolphus angrily.

"Brother dearest, one of us has to keep you in check," smiled the elder Lestrange, showing off a row of gleaming white teeth. "Forgive me for saying it, but I trust myself to do a better job than you."

Narcissa smirked beneath her veil of golden locks. Rabastan Lestrange always came out with some witty comment, mostly at his brother's expense. She always found the elder LeStrange far more interesting than his hot headed younger brother, probably because he had the same sardonic humour as his fellow sixth year, Lucius Malfoy.

"Whatever," snarled Rodolphus. "You took your time getting here..."

"My sincerest apologies," smiled Rabastan. "There was this book I just couldn't put down."

"Another Dolohov special?" asked Bellatrix, already knowing the answer.

Rabastan smiled and gave the elder Black girl a wink. He turned his head to Narcissa who had taken to examining her polished fingernails.

"Off to Hogsmeade, Narcissa?" questioned Rabastan.

"Yes, hopefully sometime this year," she returned sarcastically, shooting a cold look at Bellatrix and Rodolphus. "Although, even that looks unlikely."

"You can talk, Miss I'm-going-to-take-an-hour-to-get-ready!" retorted Bellatrix, shooting her sister a scathing look.

"Now, now ladies," sighed Rabastan, giving them both condescending looks.

Narcissa stood up abruptly and made her way towards the Slytherin entrance portrait. Much like her sister, she hated waiting especially when it involved waiting for Bellatrix and Rodolphus to stop bickering. On her way to the portrait, she passed the staircase where she and her sister had earlier encountered Lucius Malfoy. The staircase was empty now... Sighing, she continued on her way, the swish of her robes breaking the uneasy silence that hung about the corridor.

"_Alchemia Alcyone"_ whispered Narcissa to the Jacobean guardsmen who stood to attention in the portrait.

"Ah, Miss Black, off to Hogsmeade are we?" replied the portrait.

"Yes, why?" queried Narcissa.

"You are a third year; I can only let you pass if you are escorted by a prefect, you know that," reprimanded the portly Jacobean.

Narcissa rolled her sapphire eyes... she knew she would have to wait ages before her sister and Rodolphus came. She clenched her teeth, furious at her sister for deserting her... she was no better than Andromeda in that respect. Narcissa felt her fists clench into balls as an unspoken anger surged inside her; Andromeda's desertion was still so raw and still so painful.

"A problem, Miss Black?" enquired a silkily cool voice.

From the once deserted staircase descended the tall, agile frame of the heir of Malfoy. Narcissa's anger began to subside, her hands unclenched themselves and lay, relaxed, by her sides. He looked even more handsome than he did earlier. His hair was still tied back but now, even more loose strands of blonde hair fell across his face. Narcissa felt her composure harden as she lifted her head to meet his questioning stare.

"My sister seems to believe that arguing with the Lestrange boy is more worthwhile than a Hogsmeade visit," replied Narcissa cynically. "A notion I can't quite understand."

"I am very much in agreement," replied Lucius smirking. "However, you weren't thinking of going to Hogsmeade alone, were you?"

Narcissa's mind went blank – so far she had managed to keep her cool and, from what she could gather, had managed to impress the sixth year prefect with her cynicism; however, she was now stuck for a reply.

"Miss Black cannot go to Hogsmeade alone," responded the portrait for her.

"Is that so, Miss Black?" questioned Lucius condescendingly.

"Yes," replied Narcissa abruptly, her eyes glancing down at the floor. There was no point in lying.

"It would appear that you need a prefect to accompany you... am I right?" Lucius' head was cocked to one side, a satisfied grin lingered on his curved lips.

Narcissa clenched her teeth behind a false smile... she knew what he was trying to do – he was trying to make her ask for his help; if there was one thing a Black never did, it was ask for help. It was one of the unwritten laws that Narcissa had come to learn and take heed of. Pride was everything to the young Narcissa Black... but the promise of being accompanied to Hogsmeade by Lucius Malfoy was an offer that even she found hard to turn down.

"Oh no...It's quite alright," sighed Narcissa. "No doubt my sister will be along shortly."

Narcissa felt her eyes subconsciously glance down the corridor towards the common room, semi-hoping that she might see her sister or the Lestranges arguing their way towards the portrait... but there was no one and she was not the only one who had noticed.

"Something tells me she won't be along any time soon," mused Lucius. "Knowing Bellatrix, she'll be embroiled in some dispute, most probably about the ridiculous amount of muggle-borns allowed to be taught at our school."

A fleeting smile passed across the young Narcissa's lips, what Lucius had said was most likely true; Bellatrix had an intense dislike of 'mudbloods' and anyone who dared to question her reasons why ended up wishing they had not.

"Still, she will come eventually," replied Narcissa coolly.

Lucius cast her an inquisitive look, his head still cocked to one side. If she were any other girl, then she would have jumped at the chance to go with him to Hogsmeade, yet she seemed so indifferent to the idea. The Black girl was going to be a challenge...

"Miss Black, it appears to me that the concept of my accompaniment is so dreadful to you, that you would forsake the outing altogether!" exclaimed Lucius, his voice feigning a disappointed tone.

_Surely he does not truly think I do not want to go with him? _Narcissa's internal monologue was in conflict – what should she say? What should she do? Her pride was telling her one thing, but her desire for Lucius told her another.

Aware of her silence and utter indifference, Lucius turned to walk back to the Slytherin Common Room. If this action did not rouse a reply out of her, then nothing would.

"Well, Miss Black, I will leave you to wait for your sister. I've engaged enough of your time I'm sure," declared Lucius haughtily.

Narcissa watched as the young Malfoy gave her a fleeting smile and walked off, his black robes swaying behind him. She could hear his footsteps growing quieter as he continued along the corridor...

"...Wait," replied Narcissa suddenly.

A satisfied smile lingered on the lips of Lucius Malfoy. Slowly he turned around and began to casually, purposefully, walk back towards her.

"Yes, Miss Black?" he questioned quietly.

"It would be very kind of you if you could accompany me to Hogsmeade," replied Narcissa calmly.

"It would only be my pleasure," said Lucius courteously. "Shall we?"

* * *

_Ok, I know I said it would only be a two parter but I think it might go on for longer then that... hope you don't mind Now please review me, if you haven't done so already. I like to know if there is stuff I can improve, or stuff that you thought was quite good._


	3. Chapter 3: I Can't Stand It

_Hey, I know it says it's a two parter but I reckon I can squeeze more chapters out of this. Hope you enjoy, oh btw – this chapter is still in Narcissa's past, just in case you got confused. R/R _

* * *

**.:Chapter 3:.**

"So, are you going to tell me what happened or not?" challenged Bellatrix Black, her eyes narrowing at the sight of her sister deftly ascending the dormitory stairs.

"What do you mean?" replied Narcissa innocently, tossing a stream of blonde hair behind her shoulder.

"Don't play innocent with me, Cissa," snapped Bellatrix, grabbing hold of her sister's wrist with more force than necessary. "The whole school knows Lucius took _you_ to Hogsmeade..."

Narcissa felt the colour rise up to her cheeks and her stomach dance with butterflies. _The whole school knew?_ Pride swelled within Narcissa; everyone knew her name now, she was no longer Bellatrix Black's little sister, she was Narcissa, the girl Lucius Malfoy took to Hogsmeade. She allowed herself a contented smile, drunk on her own happiness until she felt a stinging slap across her face bringing her back to reality. A rage flamed in Bellatrix's dark eyes unlike anything Narcissa had ever seen before... except when Andromeda had...

"You little hussy," snarled Bellatrix.

Narcissa clutched the side of her face, feeling the heat coming from her reddened cheek. Her sister had never struck her before; a wave of shock overcame Narcissa.

"I don't understand," replied Narcissa softly, her mind swimming in bewilderment.

"You could have anyone," scowled her sister, her voice full of envy. "Why him?!"

Narcissa could feel the anger emanating from her elder sister, she could see her fists clenching and unclenching as if she were trying to control the rage that had taken hold of her. However, there was one thing that Narcissa knew oh-so-well; Bellatrix couldn't control her temper forever.

"Why are you so bothered?" retorted Narcissa bravely. "Isn't Rodolphus enough for you?"

A cruel laugh spilled from Bellatrix's mouth, shaking her head at her sister in disbelief. _How could she be so naïve?_

"You honestly think I want Rodolphus," snarled Bellatrix, "when I could have someone so much better?"

"Why?" questioned Narcissa.

"Why, little sister?" chuckled Bellatrix. "Why?! Why not? I'm always up for a challenge... especially when the odds are already in my favour."

Bellatrix leaned against the stair rail, crossing her arms across her chest. She eyed her younger sister with malicious contempt, but couldn't suppress the smug smile that graced her lips.

"It all started after he was made Slytherin Quidditch Captain," whispered Bellatrix, her smile growing more mischievous. "Let's just say, dear sister, once you've tasted forbidden fruit, you never go back."

Narcissa felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Her deepest fears were confirmed – she had known from the way they had acted around each other that there was something more. Now she knew for definite...

"You look shocked, Cissa?" questioned Bellatrix sweetly. "Surely you don't think Rodolphus actually means anything to me? He's merely a backup plan..."

"A backup plan for whom?" Narcissa knew exactly who for, but she felt like she needed confirmation almost...

"Don't play dumb with me, Narcissa!" snapped Bellatrix, the saccharine edge to her voice melting away. "Ever since I first saw _him_, I've wanted him and I won't let someone like you ruin my chances."

Narcissa clenched her teeth in anger; why didn't she see this coming? The way Bellatrix looked at him, flirted with him... She reprimanded herself for being so naïve and stupid. However, she was in too deep to allow her raven-haired sister take him away from her so easily. It was about time she gave as good as she got...

"What makes you think he'd want you any more?" began Narcissa coolly, removing her hand from her cheek and placing it calmly at her side. "You're nothing to him... just another meaningless conquest."

Bellatrix's mouth dropped as she heard the cold words fall from her sister's mouth. _How dare she?! _Narcissa could have sworn she'd seen the flames of Hell dance in her sister's eyes as she held her yew wand at her ice-white neck. Narcissa stood motionless feeling the point of the wand digging into her skin.

"Just give me a reason," whispered Bellatrix. "Just one..."

"Now, now girls," drawled an all too familiar voice. "Play nice."

Narcissa felt Bellatrix's wand fall away from her throat and settle at her sister's side. However, a burning sensation remained where sparks had flown from the wand had been pressed so hard into her skin. For a second, her eyes met the grey stare of Lucius Malfoy as he calmly surveyed the situation between Bellatrix and her. He noticed the wand that lay firmly clutched in Bellatrix's hand and then he noticed the red hand mark that was still visible in stark contrast to the rest of Narcissa's pale face.

"Fighting in the corridors?" questioned Lucius, his eyebrow arched. "What kind of example are you setting to your younger peers, Bellatrix?"

Quickly tucking her wand away into her robes, Bellatrix shot him an innocent, honey-drenched smile and walked over towards him.

"Sorry, sir," she whispered, planting a soft kiss on his cheek as she headed off towards the Slytherin Common Room, casting a confidently satisfied look over her shoulder at Narcissa.

Narcissa bent down to pick up her satchel that she had dropped when Bellatrix had slapped her. A shadow cast itself over her as Lucius offered his hand to help her up; graciously she took it, acknowledging its softness against her skin.

"Thanks," replied Narcissa quietly.

Turning, she started to walk up the Slytherin staircase when she felt a hand gently grip her wrist, halting her in her tracks. Slowly, she brought herself around to face her captor.

"Yes?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow. Her heart ached as she looked at his perfect face and heard her sister's words reverberate in her mind. However, she would never let him know her pain... never.

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened?" inquired Lucius, searching the Black girl's face for some semblance of an answer.

Narcissa thought at first he was going to ask if she was okay, no doubt he had seen the red marked that branded the side of her face. However, she was cruelly mistaken...

"A prefect needs to be informed of these things."

Everything was business to Lucius Malfoy; there was no time for emotional concern.

"A petty argument," replied Narcissa coolly. "Nothing else."

"Why don't I believe you?" cut in Lucius, pulling her towards him.

She could feel the pressure of his grip on her wrist tighten, yet it didn't hurt her. Narcissa felt Lucius pulling her towards him and she complied with his physical demand, walking back down the obsidian steps.

"Tell me what really happened," demanded Lucius.

Narcissa felt an unbidden anger rise inside her and once again she clenched her teeth in a silent defiance. This situation was becoming too much for her; there was no way she was going to swell his pride by telling him the argument was over him.

"It doesn't concern you," retorted Narcissa. "Now, let me go."

"Fine," sighed Lucius. "I'll find out though... one way or another."

Releasing her from his grasp, she turned and continued up the staircase. She could feel his eyes boring holes into her as she maintained a confident walk up the stairs. However, the moment she got into her room, after checking no one else was around, she threw herself on to her bed, angry tears forcing their way through her incensed indigo eyes. The day had started so well; Hogsmeade had been like a dream, but the horrible truths she had since discovered had shattered that dream and transformed it into a nightmare.

Her usually icy exterior melted into that of sheer rage; she wanted to hurt everyone who had ever hurt her: Andromeda, Bellatrix, Lucius... everyone. A sharp rapping on her dormitory door brought her crashing to her senses.

"Who's there?" she shouted, wiping away the tears she resented shedding.

"It's me... Evan," replied a quiet voice. "Is that you Narcissa?"

Narcissa wondered why on earth Evan Rosier would be knocking on the girl's dormitory; males were not allowed, under any circumstances, to enter the girl's dorms. Perhaps this was why he was lingering outside. Slowly, Narcissa got up from her bed and went towards the heavy door, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way there. It didn't look like she'd been crying; she was slightly flushed, but that was all. Gingerly, she opened the door and saw the dark haired Evan Rosier standing there.

"You okay?" he inquired, greeting her with a friendly smile.

"You're not one of Lucius' errand-boys, are you?" she sighed. "If you are, you're wasting your time."

"I'm not sure what you mean," replied Evan, confusion hanging on his every word. "Has something happened between you and Lucius?"

Evan felt jealousy's bitter sting when he thought of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa. Lucius had _everything_; he was Quidditch Captain, a prefect and intelligent to boot. Girls fell at his feet where ever he went, even girls outside of Slytherin. Evan felt his smile drop slightly at the idea of Narcissa herself being another one of those many girls.

Narcissa didn't even know why she had asked Evan _that _question. Was it paranoia? Or maybe, perhaps, she wanted Lucius to show some concern for her by sending one of his mates to check on her? Either way both her excuses seemed inconsequential. A weak smile hung on her lips as she waved away Evan's and her own confusion.

"It's nothing," Narcissa answered casually. "What can I do for you?"

Evan's rich amber eyes dropped to the ground for a moment as he pondered on how to answer her question without potentially offending her._ Just tell her straight, Rosier._ Truth be told, he had liked Narcissa the moment he had set eyes on her. It was not just her background which drew her to him but her intelligence, her looks... everything. Of course, he was not bad at all himself; his layered jet-black hair lay tousled around his face and his piercing amber eyes emanated a certain warmth - rare for a Slytherin. His facial structure was similar to Lucius' with prominent cheekbones cutting through his pale complexion. Running a hand through his hair, the fifth year looked at her intently.

"Look, I'm just going to get to the point," he began. "I like you... a lot."

Evan's declaration seemed more like a statement than a profession of emotion. She couldn't help but allow the smallest smile to grace her rosebud lips; Narcissa felt the wheels and cogs in her mind turn... this was perfect.

"Fancy going out sometime?" he finished, shooting her a devilish grin.

Narcissa looked about her, pretending to be flustered by the whole scenario. Truthfully, she thought that Evan Rosier was a decent enough person, he had both the looks and intelligence; not only was he on the Quidditch team, but he had been predicted all 'Outstandings' in his O.W.L.s. In reality, this was the type of person she should have gone for, but all he was to her was part of an elaborate plan...

"Sure, I'd love to," she replied softly._ I'll play you at your game, Malfoy..._

* * *

_Hey! You like? A bit different I know... I was going to make Lucius all concerned for Narcissa but I don't think he really would be. I've always been intrigued by Evan Rosier so I thought I'd name-drop him lol. Tell me what you think...so much for the two parter! o.O _


	4. Chapter 4: You Really Got Me

_Thanks for the reviews guys, keeps me wanting to write! Hope this chapter goes okay; it's pretty off-the-cuff so fingers crossed. Reviews and comments are always appreciated. _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 4:.**

"Is it true?" squealed Saffron Parkinson. "You and Evan?!"

Narcissa wondered how on earth someone as unpopular as Saffron Parkinson would have known that she was going out with Evan Rosier. Perhaps her older brother Basil had something to do with it, he was in the same year as Evan after all.

"Yeah, me and Evan," replied Narcissa primly.

"At first I thought it was you and Lucius," mused Saffron, "but I guess not!"

Narcissa felt a sting pierce her heart at the mere mention of _his_ name, but nevertheless gave Saffron a wan smile and looked back up at the blackboard where Professor Eltanin had written up the lesson's experiment. They were to make a rather complex poison which if went wrong could potentially blow one's cauldron up and the cauldron's owner if they weren't careful. Narcissa pulled on her pair of dragon hide gloves and set about neatly cutting up the three salamander tails that were crucial for the poison to work. However, her mind was not on the fiery salamander limbs that lay in front of her, but something else... something far more personal.

"You're so lucky, Narcissa," sighed Saffron, who's salamander tails were cut into various sized chunks whilst oozing a murky orange stain on to the work surface. "Evan's such a catch."

"Thanks," replied Narcissa, measuring out the right quantity of dragon's blood and gently pouring it into her cauldron.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Rookwood!" exclaimed Professor Eltanin.

Narcissa turned around to see Professor Eltanin glowering over a petrified looking Augustus Rookwood whose robes were quite literally melting away. Somehow he had managed to knock the salamander tails all over himself and everyone knew that salamander's were literally fire... obviously everyone except Rookwood.

"I-I'm s-sorry Professor," stuttered Rookwood, desperately trying to shake off his robes.

"Stand still boy!" raged their Potions master. "Restinguo!"

A torrent of water poured out the end of Professor Eltanin's wand, drenching Rookwood's robes and extinguishing the salamander's fiery damage.

"I hate taking points from my own house but this carelessness cannot go unpunished," shouted Eltanin. "Ten points from Slytherin and detention with me tonight in my office."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, angry at Rookwood for losing Slytherin points. He was one of the reasons why they were always losing the House Cup to Gryffindor. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the third year Gryffindors sniggering and giggling at the sight of Rookwood, sniffing and shivering in his waterlogged robes. He was a black smudge on the name of Slytherin and it made her burn up with anger inside.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Black?" inquired Professor Eltanin amiably, noticing her glare. "Your potion is looking exceptional."

"Nothing's wrong, sir," replied Narcissa politely. "Only the noise the Gryffindors are making is affecting my concentration a little."

"Well, we'll see about that," he smirked dangerously. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for their inability to concentrate on their own work!"

The Gryffindors fell silent instantly and Narcissa shot them an innocently contented look as she stirred her poison three times anti-clockwise. Saffron smirked at their thunderstruck faces as she carelessly poured in her dragon's blood. Her cauldron soon enough began to emit a rather nasty smelling purple smoke which wafted its way around the classroom causing everyone, including their Professor screw up their noses.

"Right, that will be enough for today," said Professor Eltanin, his fingers clamped tightly around the end of his nose. "Homework will be to write up this experiment in its entirety plus two metres of parchment on the effects and symptoms that five Grade B poisons have on the human body."

A communal groan rose up from the pupils except for Narcissa; this was the type of homework she enjoyed.

"Please leave a sample of your poison on the front," shouted Professor Eltanin. "Next lesson we will be testing these poisons out, so woe betide any of you who have failed to follow the experiment requirements."

Narcissa poured some of the crimson potion into a vial and placed it on her Professor's desk; she knew she would get an 'Outstanding' for this experiment.

"Miss Black, would you stay behind for a moment please?" asked Eltanin curtly. "There is something I need to discuss with you."

Narcissa felt her stomach lurch, but managed a weak smile as she complied with her Potion master's wishes. There was no way she, Narcissa Black, could be in any sort of trouble... well, any trouble that she couldn't charm her way out of.

* * *

Evan slumped himself down on one of the dragon hide couches that seemingly littered the Slytherin common room. His forehead was still beaded with sweat even after showering; the evening's Quidditch practice was intense to say the least, Lucius was like a demon unleashed. Three hours straight practice with no respite; at this rate they would be too tired to face the fresh Hufflepuff team in two days time. Sighing, he put his hands behind his head and allowed his amber eyes to close. The heat from the fire lulled him into a slumber and helped to relax his aching muscles.

"Sleeping on the job, Rosier?" whispered a soft voice.

A pair of hands clamped themselves over his eyes and strands of soft hair fell across his face, accompanied by an enticing scent. A slight smile crossed Evan's face.

"Who's that then?" he replied, his smile broadening.

"Guess who?" came the brash reply.

Evan's smile widened showing off two rows of dazzlingly white teeth. He knew that voice, everyone did, although he was secretly hoping it was someone else's.

"Ha-ha, Bella, it's only you," smirked Evan removing her hands from his face.

"What do you mean 'only you'?" she teased playfully.

"Well, what brings you my way, Black?" replied Evan casually.

"I was wondering if you had seen Lucius around anywhere," drawled Bellatrix.

"Haven't seen him or Rodolphus for that matter since Quidditch practice," replied Evan earnestly, stretching out his arms. "What business you got with Lucy?"

Bellatrix tapped her nose and winked at him.

"The secret kind! Nosey!" replied Bellatrix, flouncing off towards the Common Room exit.

"Oh, Bella?" asked Evan, sitting up and turning around. "You seen Narcissa anywhere?"

Bellatrix's face darkened at the mention of her sister's name. The events from yesterday remained fresh in Bellatrix's mind; she still hadn't forgiven her sister for what she had said and she probably wouldn't for a long time.

"No," replied Bellatrix honestly. "I haven't seen her today."

"Oh," came the dejected response. "No worries then."

Bellatrix gave him a sly smile and continued on her way out, leaving Evan on his own in the darkening Common Room. A wave of anxiety swept over him as he wondered where Narcissa could be. She couldn't be in detention, that girl never got in detention. There was something else though... something in the back of his mind kept coming back to that one name over and over again. _No way._ There was no way she would do that to him, right?

"No way," he muttered attempting to convince himself out loud.

"No way what?" came a cool reply.

Turning around he saw the petite form of Narcissa Black standing in the doorway of the Common Room. Her golden hair lay behind her shoulders, her book bag slung casually over her shoulder. Even in the dark, her indigo eyes remained illuminated defying the lack of light.

"Oh nothing," smiled Evan, watching her as she walked towards the couch he was sitting on. "How are you?"

"Good," replied Narcissa casually, slumping down on the couch next to him. "You?"

"I'm knackered," sighed Evan honestly. "Lucius is working us into the ground."

"No different from usual then," smiled Narcissa, determined to keep her composure when on the subject of the Quidditch captain.

"I just don't understand why he's working us so hard," began Evan, running a hand through his dark hair, allowing it to rest on the crown of his head. "It's not as if we're playing Gryffindor."

"Still, Hufflepuff have a new seeker, do they not?" said Narcissa, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I guess so but it's so not like Lucius to be this...," but something made him pause; the graceful movements of her slender fingers and the gold strands that fell between them, "...impassioned."

Narcissa looked up to meet his amber eyes with her own indigo ones and held them for the briefest of moments. The way he was looking at her unnerved Narcissa, he seemed to be studying her every movement. Smiling, she felt her eyes break away from his gaze to look at her hands which now lay motionless in her lap. She could still feel his eyes on her as his hand moved up to brush back a few remaining troublesome gold tendrils behind her ears. She could feel his fingertips gently brushing across her cheek and over the tip of her ear. They lingered there and then ran along her jawline, gently turning her face towards his once more.

"Evan, I..." she began, her voice barely a whisper.

She watched as he leant in, his face coming ever so close to her own. She could see the firelight dancing in his eyes, highlighting the flecks of gold that lay embedded in them. Slowly, she closed her eyes and prayed that this wasn't real... no matter how much she wanted to hurt _him_, she just didn't know if she was ready to go through with this. Luckily for Narcissa, tonight was not the night...

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," drawled an all too familiar voice.

Narcissa felt her eyes snap open and saw the robed figure of Lucius Malfoy leaning against the entrance to the Common Room, his arms folded across his chest.

"As a matter of fact, Malfoy, you were," retorted Evan smiling.

"My sincerest apologies," replied Lucius sarcastically.

"Rosier, you cad!" exclaimed another voice that seemed to come from the darkness of the entrance behind Lucius.

Rodolphus Lestrange came strolling in, eying both Narcissa and Evan with a mischievous grin on his face. Playfully he leaned over the back of the couch and mussed up Evan's hair whilst giving Narcissa a sly wink.

"Ah, leave off Lestrange," replied Evan, giving Rodolphus a friendly push.

"Who'd have thought, you and Miss 'Ice Queen' Black?" smirked Rodolphus, refusing to let the subject drop.

Narcissa merely sat and watched as Evan and Rodolphus exchanged witty comebacks with each other. However, out of the corner of her eye she could see Lucius' impenetrable gaze fixed on her; his eyes running over every part of her body. Before, it would have made her smile, but now all she had to do was think of the cruel things her sister had told her and that smile would quickly become a frown.

"Oh, Malfoy," cut in Evan. "Bellatrix wants a word with you."

"Bella?" replied Rodolphus, a frown creasing his brow. "What for?"

"Beats me," shrugged Evan, his eyes shifting between Lucius and Rodolphus, grimacing as an unspoken tension filled the air.

"Probably prefect stuff," sighed Lucius. "Don't worry yourself, Lestrange."

"Who said I was worried?" joked Rodolphus, a hint of self-doubt hanging on his words.

"Who, indeed?" replied Lucius, a smile of self-assurance gracing his lips. "Miss Black, Professor Eltanin requests your attendance in his office if it's convenient?"

"Of course," smiled Narcissa coolly, however, something made her wonder why Professor Eltanin would want to see her so soon after their conversation earlier that afternoon.

Picking up her book bag, she got up from the couch and began to make her way towards the corridor; however, she was stopped when she felt Evan's hand take hold of hers.

"I'll see you when you get back?" asked Evan quietly, his eyes darting from Narcissa to Lucius, a nervous smile pulling uncomfortably at his lips.

Narcissa smiled sweetly and gave him a slight nod. Satisfied with her reply, Evan let go of her hand and watched as she headed towards the corridor, her eyes looking nowhere else but straight in front of her.

* * *

Narcissa could hear his footsteps behind her as she walked down the long, torch-lit corridor to her Head of House's office. She had already seen Professor Eltanin today about Advanced Potions lessons, there was no need for him to see her again, especially at this hour. Perhaps this was one of Lucius' plans in order to get her to talk again...

"Professor Eltanin doesn't really want to see me, does he?" asked Narcissa confidently and coldly.

"No," replied Lucius. "He doesn't."

Narcissa stopped in her tracks and turned around to face him. The truths she had learnt about him had hardened her resolve, she was no longer worried about putting on her false airs and graces.

"Why exactly am I here?" she sighed, dropping her bag to the floor in exasperation.

"Why do you think?" retorted Lucius, his steel-grey eyes fixed on her face.

"I don't know," admitted Narcissa sarcastically. "Enlighten me."

Lucius smiled at her comeback and took a few steps towards her. He watched as she stood her ground, her delicate hands balled into determined fists at her sides.

"You and Bellatrix, yesterday," replied Lucius casually. "Enlightened enough?"

"What about us?" shot back Narcissa, her eyes flashing momentarily with a flicker of anger.

"Bellatrix had a wand pointed at your throat," sighed Lucius. "I want to know the reason why."

"Then why don't you ask my sister?" answered Narcissa shortly. "I don't see why you need concern me with this."

"You Blacks and your damn pride," whispered Lucius softly, rolling his eyes. "Very well, if you refuse to answer that question, then answer me another."

Narcissa didn't grace him with a response, instead she stood waiting silently for his next question. She felt anger's clutches claw into her at the thought of his sheer audacity at asking her to talk about all these unnecessary subjects, especially under such false pretences.

"What are you doing with the likes of Rosier?" questioned Lucius dangerously.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Narcissa obstinately.

"Don't lie to me," sighed Lucius, taking a few more steps towards Narcissa's stationary position.

"Why does it matter to you anyway?" retorted Narcissa, her face growing pale as she saw how close he was to her.

"I don't need a reason for it to matter," replied Lucius calmly. "I just want to know why."

Narcissa knew the reason why, but she was hardly going to tell Lucius that the only reason she was going out with Evan was to get back at him. Maybe if she was with Evan he would notice her, perhaps care about her. Narcissa scoffed inside at her weakness, at her _need_ to be cared for and noticed; it was completely unbecoming of a Black. She would never show him her weakness, never. Then it hit her... the answer to his question was oh-so simple.

"Because…" began Narcissa quietly, adding a false naivety to her voice. "Because I love him."

"Love him? _Rosier?_" sneered Lucius, his lips forming a grim obstinate line.

"That's what I said," concluded Narcissa, stooping down to pick up her book bag. "Now if you don't mind."

Defiantly, she lifted up her head and started the long walk back down the darkening corridor, until she felt the familiar grip of a strong hand on her wrist.

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that you love Rosier, do you?" snarled Lucius. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Narcissa felt Lucius sharply pulling her towards him until they were merely inches apart; the only thing that came between them was the grip he still held on her wrist. She felt her stomach squirming and her heart racing as she brought her determined eyes up to glare at his equally resolute ones.

"Let me go," retorted Narcissa, unable to control the rapid intake of breath that followed her sentence. "I have nothing else to say to you."

Lucius felt her pulse quickening in her wrist, whether through fear or desire he didn't know. There was no way someone like Narcissa could possibly 'love' someone like Evan Rosier; her lies about love were easy to see through. Indeed, it seemed as if something, or someone, had set her against him; she was different from the cool, reserved girl he took to Hogsmeade yesterday. Her icy exterior was tinged with fire, both burning and freezing those who came near her. However, there was something about this fire that somewhat enticed Lucius; the way her rosebud lips were pouted in stubborn insolence and her eyes, the icy cerulean melting away into scorching cobalt. He could see the beginnings of cracks forming in her apparently impenetrable defences.

"Now if you're done with your interrogation..." began Narcissa, attempting to regain her cool exterior.

"But I'm not," interrupted Lucius serenely. "There is only one way for me to find out if you truly love Rosier."

"Oh, really and what's th-,"

Her sentence was cut short as Lucius swiftly pressed his tender lips against her own. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, as she felt the kiss intensify; a thousand thoughts raced through her mind as she felt herself reciprocating the kiss she had dreamed of since she first laid eyes on him. However, somewhere in the depths of her psyche she could feel herself screaming; this wasn't what she had planned at all. He was winning and she was letting him; the more that passion burned into their kiss, the more she felt herself quickly succumbing to his will.

* * *

_Woo! The end of another chapter; so does Lucius finally get his prize hassle-free? Or does Narcissa have other tricks up her sleeve? Find out in the next episode of 'Back to Black,' which I hope to update soonish. Sorry if there is a delay – University is a time consumer! As always constructive criticism and feedback are appreciated! ;;_


	5. Chapter 5: Don't Pass Me By

_Wow! The response I got from the last chapter was phenomenal! Thank you all so much! Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint; once more it's kinda off-the-cuff. Most of this is Bellatrix so don't be too disappointed. o.O I had great fun writing it though _

_TwilightArc__: About the Dolohov thing – It wasn't really going to serve any purpose, but I might expand on it now that you mention it. Might make for some interesting reading, don't you think?_

_Well everyone, enough of me, I'll let you read the chapter now! _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling.

**.:Chapter 5:.**

Somehow she knew that this was the beginning of the end for her; as her sister had so cruelly said, once you tasted forbidden fruit you could never go back. However, Narcissa _knew _she would fight with everything she could muster so she would not become another conquest, another nobody. She was a Black and she would bow down to no one. Soon enough she felt the bitterness of resistance work its way into her mind, but for some reason her mental command just wasn't getting through. Her lips were still tightly locked against his lips; her tongue still caressing his... no matter how much she wanted to break free, some unseen force was holding her there.

She watched hidden and soundless from the depths of the shadows that lingered around Professor Eltanin's office. She watched as Lucius Malfoy grabbed _her_ arm and pulled _her _into an embrace. Bellatrix's dark eyes narrowed in both anger and disgust at the sight of her sister sharing something with Lucius Malfoy that she could only dream of. Indeed, what she had told her sister about him had been unfounded lies...lies that she had wished for so long were true.

* * *

_A triumphant roar broke out amongst the Slytherin stands as a flash of green and black whizzed about the stadium; Rodolphus had caught the golden snitch and clutched it firmly in his grasp. Slytherin had won and had, in turn, managed to win the Quidditch Cup from Gryffindor for the first time in a decade. The forlorn faces of the Gryffindor faithful began to disband as the stands emptied. However, the Slytherin fans were on Cloud Nine, especially Bellatrix... getting one over her sister Andromeda's House always made her smile._

_She continued to watch as the team did their lap of honour headed by their seventh year Chaser and Captain, Julius Flint. The Slytherin Quidditch team was full of star talent with fourth year Rabastan Lestrange as Keeper, third year Evan Rosier and fourth year Lucius Malfoy as Chasers, fifth year's Theon Travers and Stefan Wilkes as Beaters and the third year Seeker, Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix watched him give her a wink as he sped around the stadium, punching his snitch-bound fist in the air. No matter how many times Rodolphus asked her out, she would continually rebuff him knowing she would have who she wanted... it would only be a matter of time. Her eyes continued to linger on the fourth year Chaser, who seemed to be taking the victory in his stride – his blonde hair was drawn back in a ponytail, but the wind seemed to be doing a good job in removing odd tendrils that dusted his jawline. A satisfied smile lay on his lips but he kept both hands on his broom, preferring not to lower himself to what he called 'muggle type' celebrations. _

_One by one, the Slytherin players dismounted their brooms and headed towards the changing rooms. She watched as the blonde figure landed and casually walked towards his destination, a short distance behind the rest of the team. Bellatrix saw her chance and bolted down the stairs that, conveniently enough led down to the changing rooms below._

"_Hey Black," shouted a breathless voice._

_Rolling her eyes, she turned around to see the slim, sweat-drenched frame of Rodolphus LeStrange making a beeline towards her, his right hand still clutching the snitch._

"_You come to join the celebrations?" he questioned, his hand attempting to tame his black, windswept hair._

"_Something like that," mused Bellatrix, aware that his gleaming blue eyes were all over her. "You guys played good."_

_Rodolphus felt his grin widen; it wasn't often that one got praise from Bellatrix Black. Perhaps now was the right time to bring up what they had discussed earlier before the match... However, before he knew it, an out of breath Evan Rosier came jogging over to their position, an attractive smile emblazoned on his handsome face._

"_Hey, did you know?" began Evan cheerfully, although something resembling envy tainted his cheerfulness. "Lucius has been made Slytherin Captain."_

"_Really?" replied Bellatrix, her head turning to see where the new Captain was. "I bet he expects me to offer him my congratulations. Do you know where he is?"_

"_I think he's in the broom lockup," replied Evan breathlessly. "Anyhow, can't let the celebrations start without me. You coming, Lestrange?"_

"_I'll be there in a minute," muttered Rodolphus, hoping that Evan would just leave them alone for just a minute._

_Evan looked between Rodolphus and Bellatrix, his eyes narrowing as if to survey the situation and then his smile widened knowingly showing off two rows of perfect white teeth._

"_Alright Lestrange," laughed Evan, "I'll make my self scarce."_

_Clamping his hand on Rodolphus' shoulder in a friendly gesture, Evan Rosier jogged back to his team mates only to be intercepted by a flock of Slytherin girls, giggling and blocking his path._

"_Bella, have you thought anymore about what I said?" questioned Rodolphus, his smile dropping as he noticed the way she was searching for Lucius._

"_What?" she replied absentmindedly, Rodolphus' infatuation with her would just have to wait._

"_Don't worry," he muttered. _

_Perhaps now wasn't the best time to broach the subject with her again, too much excitement and too many people. He forced himself to smile his trademark smile, but of course, deep down he was disappointed – he thought his victory today would be complete with the golden snitch in his hand and Bellatrix Black on his arm._

"_I'll see you later, Lestrange," grinned Bellatrix, giving him a small wink at the same time. Sure, she liked Rodolphus… but only as backup and ninety-nine percent of the time Bellatrix never needed 'backup.'_

"_Sure," Rodolphus sighed not knowing whether her previous words had been a statement or a question._

_He watched as she headed into the changing rooms, taking a left towards the broom lockup. His knuckles threatened to pierce through his skin as he continued to strangle the snitch in a deathlike grip. What did_he_ have that Rodolphus didn't? The question did and would always linger in his mind..._

_Bellatrix stealthily snuck into the broom lockup, and lingered in the entrance way surveying her 'prey.' He had his back turned to the doorway and was still wearing his Quidditch robes; he obviously hadn't been to the shower rooms yet. His hands were caressing the surface of his broom, his fingers running down the contours of the mahogany wood. Bellatrix felt a sly smile pass across her aristocratic features as the temptation became too much..._

"_Hey there, Captain," she drawled, making her way further into the broom lockup._

_Lucius turned around to see the stately figure of Bellatrix Black smiling wickedly at him, her face surrounded by a tumble of raven black hair._

"_Bellatrix Black," smiled Lucius. "Here to pay your respects?"_

"_Hardly," sniggered Bellatrix, advancing closer to his stationary form._

"_Hmm, your wit never ceases to amaze me," sighed Lucius sarcastically, whilst cocking his head to one side._

_Bellatrix's grin grew wider as she continued to prowl predatorily towards him. She was so close that she could see the individual beads of sweat that still glistened on his brow and certain individual strands of white-blonde hair that fell across his face._

"_So how does it feel being Captain?" purred Bellatrix softly. "Powerful? Commanding?"_

"_You wouldn't believe," whispered Lucius back, a sly smile crossing his lips that rivalled Bellatrix's own._

"_I can imagine," smirked Bellatrix, running her nails slowly down his robed chest._

_Lucius merely smiled at her retort and the flirtatious gesture. He could allow her that much fun – Bellatrix was as brazen as they come; this was the main reason why he would have nothing to do with her outside of obligatory flirting. He was quickly brought from his thoughts when he felt her grab hold of the front of his robes as she leant in to give him his 'congratulations.' However, he promptly put his finger to her lips, which were barely inches away from his own, stopping her assault._

"_I didn't think you were here to pay your respects?" questioned Lucius dryly, slowly removing his finger from her rouged lips._

"_This isn't paying respects," whispered Bellatrix. "This is getting what I want."_

_With that she quickly leant in once more, but Lucius was too quick for her; grabbing her gently by the shoulders he pushed her back from him and kept her, literally, at arm's length._

"_Playing hard to get, are we?" teased Bellatrix, her voice dangerously immersed in saccharine sweetness._

"_Oh Bellatrix, how I'd love to stay and play your games," started Lucius, sarcasm lingering on every word, "but I'm afraid duty calls."_

_Smiling, he dropped his hands to his sides and walked past her, not even giving her a second glance. Bellatrix stood motionless, she looked calm enough but inside she was a burning furnace of anger. How dare he?! Her countenance eventually betrayed her thoughts, her features contorting into physical representations of the rage she felt inside. She felt her breathing deepen as she inhaled breath after breath of the musty air that filled every inch of the lockup; no one disgraced a Black, especially not a Malfoy._

"_I won't lose," muttered Bellatrix. "I won't."_

"_Lose what?" came a confused reply._

_Bellatrix turned around towards the doorway to see a freshly showered Rodolphus Lestrange leaning casually against the doorframe. His dark hair, still wet, was deftly slicked back from his face... a style he didn't usually wear._

"_Oh, nothing," purred Bellatrix, walking towards him. "Just a little bet..."_

"_With who?" questioned Rodolphus curiously, sensing her felinity in the way she approached him._

"_No-one I need to worry about," replied Bellatrix. "I'll win in the end."_

"_I don't doubt that," grinned Rodolphus, his hungry eyes watching the way she sashayed towards him. "Not for a second."_

_Bellatrix felt herself smile at his complete ignorance of the situation. She could use someone like him – someone who wouldn't ask questions about her schemes and intrigues; someone who would stand by her no matter what..._

"_I have an answer," began Bellatrix sweetly, running a nailed finger slowly across his thin lips, "about what we were discussing this morning..."_

* * *

Bellatrix recoiled away from her memories, reprimanding herself for her ridiculous sentimentality. It was completely unbecoming of her, especially when she realised that the ball was now in her court. She felt herself wanting to laugh out loud with triumph as she imagined what Evan would say, what he would _do_, when he found out his darling girlfriend was sharing 'intimate moments' with his lifelong rival... a mischievous, calculating smile pulled at Bellatrix's lips as her plan began to come together. It had become so much more than just Lucius, at this rate the whole of Slytherin House would be involved in this scandal with her sister's reputation being smashed in the middle. They said that blood is thicker than water, but after losing one sister, Bellatrix thought, how hard would it be to sacrifice another? Smiling deviously, she turned her back on the both of them as she continued down the corridor, her figure merging with the darkness. 

The sound of the soft echoing of footsteps brought Narcissa back to her senses, causing her to abruptly pull away from Lucius' embrace. She looked to where she thought she heard the footsteps, but there was no one there. Lucius noticed the frown that creased her brow; frowning was unbecoming of Narcissa Black and Lucius noticed it more than anyone. However, he could understand the reasons behind her frown; he knew they were being watched and he had a good idea as to who it was.

"Evan's waiting for me," murmured Narcissa, her narrowed eyes still surveying the surrounding area.

She felt herself subconsciously wipe her lips with the back of her hand as if to remove the accursed evidence of her passion. However, the one thing she couldn't get rid of was the bittersweet taste he had left in her mouth; a taste that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

"I know you don't love him," whispered Lucius close to her ear, "because you and I are more alike than you know."

"That changes nothing," retorted Narcissa. "Whether I love Evan or not is none of your concern."

"So you admit it," smiled Lucius smugly. "You don't love him."

Narcissa realised too late that her slip of the tongue had cost her dearly and had clearly given Lucius more ammunition to fire at her. She had played right into his hands; her cover was as good as blown especially because of the way she had returned his kiss. She needed to do something drastic, something to prove that she wasn't going to be walked over by someone like him.

"Think what you will," sighed Narcissa, her face returning to its natural serenity. "My boyfriend is waiting."

"Hmm, it would be a terrible shame if he found out about this, wouldn't it?" drawled Lucius, a dangerous undercurrent of spite giving his words their desired effect.

"You wouldn't dare blackmail me," retorted Narcissa, her eyes glaring into his amused grey stare.

"Why shouldn't I?" began Lucius. "As one of my fellow Slytherins, he has a right to know when he is being made a fool of."

"Why go to all that trouble?" smiled Narcissa triumphantly. "And besides, have you ever thought that maybe it's you who is being made the fool of?"

Snatching up her bookbag from the ground, she gave Lucius one last cool glare with her indigo blue eyes before heading back towards the common room. Narcissa would have been lying by saying that she didn't felt threatened by Lucius' words – he had the power to potentially upset all her plans. Although, the fact that he would go to the trouble of exposing her showed her that she more than just someone he could walk over; for the moment that was enough. Her relationship with Evan seemed to have hit a nerve with him – she could tell by the way he had kissed her, passionately, intensely, as if he could win her just like that she laughed. However, her revelries were cut short by the more pressing concerns that dawned on her, like the footsteps she had heard in the corridor; someone could have been watching them and that someone could potentially be on their way to expose her to Evan. Part of her laughed at the unnecessary nature of her fear – she was Narcissa Black, daughter of Cygnus Black, she had nothing to be worried about. Besides, there was no kind of trouble that she couldn't get herself out of...

* * *

Evan Rosier glanced at his timepiece for the tenth time that minute; it had just gone eight o' clock. The common room was surprisingly quiet, apart from him and Rabastan Lestrange who was engrossed in some dark arts book, the only other people in the room were a giggling group of fourth years who kept trying desperately to catch Evan's eye. He smiled casually at them, causing one of the more prettier one's to blush deep red. Usually, he would have strolled over to them and satisfied their curiosity by flirting with one or two of them, but he just didn't feel the need to. Sighing, he ran a hand through his dark hair, looking at the entrance anxiously. 

"Expecting someone?" questioned Rabastan whilst removing his square-framed reading glasses. "All you've done is stare at the door for the past half hour."

"How do you know I've been staring at the door?" countered Evan, his brow creased in a frown. "You've had your head in that book."

"Contrary to popular belief, Rosier," sighed Rabastan, cleaning his glasses on a piece of chamois, "men can multi-task just as easily as women."

"Whatever," replied Evan, rolling his eyes. "What's that book you're reading anyway?"

"_Arcanum Obscurum,_" stated Rabastan matter-of-factly. "It means-,"

"I know what it means," interrupted Evan, a little more angrily than he had intended. "So can we expect an appearance from this mysterious penfriend of yours anytime soon?"

"As a matter of fact, he's staying with my family over Christmas," replied Rabastan proudly. "His parents, Josef and Sinovia were close friends of the family; it is such a travesty that they are now in Azkaban."

"I remember reading about that," mused Evan, recalling their strangely unperturbed faces on the front of the _Daily Prophet_ a year ago

"Indeed," murmured Rabastan, his eyes once more glued to the pages of his book.

Knowing that he probably wasn't going to get any more conversation out of the elder Lestrange, Evan slumped further down into the dragon skin couch. He wondered about what had detained Narcissa for this long, and then almost simultaneously his mind shifted as to the whereabouts of Lucius Malfoy who had still yet to return. He tried to ignore the idea of Narcissa and Lucius alone together, but it was just too strong a thought to block out. Evan massaged his temples in a vain attempt to calm the jealous beast that had taken hold of his senses, but his stillness was soon enough interrupted by the sound of quick paced footsteps.

"Someone's in a hurry," muttered Rabastan, his eyes barely centimetres away from the pages in his book.

Turning, Evan saw the smiling countenance of Bellatrix Black as she waltzed into the Slytherin common room. Her smile widened when she saw Evan sitting alone and promptly she sat down next to him on the dragon hide couch.

"Alright Bella?" asked Evan casually, noticing how close she was sitting next to him. "Did you find Lucius in the end?"

"You could say that," smirked Bellatrix, fluttering her long lashes innocently.

Evan smiled at her; he didn't know how Rodolphus could put up with this firestarter without getting his hands burnt at every possible moment._ Rather him than me._ He watched as Bellatrix reclined further into the couch, lying her raven haired head on his shoulder. Rabastan looked up from his book and arched his eyebrow questioningly at Bellatrix's behaviour; she was, after all, going out with his younger brother.

"Hey, Bella?" began Evan, taking Rabastan's silent hint and gently shrugging her head from his shoulder. "Did you want something?"

"I need to talk to you," whispered Bellatrix, her breath grazing the side of his face. "In private."

"Guess I'll make myself scarce then," retorted Rabastan, who seemed to have surprisingly good hearing considering the distance he was from the two of them. "See you at practice, Rosier."

Closing his dusty old book, Rabastan tucked it under his arm and headed towards the dormitories casting one final reprimanding glare at Evan before disappearing from sight.

"What do you need to talk to me about?" questioned Evan, noticing that they were now alone in the common room, the crackling of the fire breaking the oppressing silence that had settled in.

"I need to tell you something important," started Bellatrix, her tone becoming deadly serious. "About my sister..."

* * *

_Sorry for the cliffhanger! Oooo that evil meddling Bellatrix! Poor Narcissa... Sorry you guys didn't get much Lucius/Narcissa action, I thought it was important to explain the back story and I was also missing Rabastan! He's such a cool character to work with. Anyway, tell me if you like how this is going and as always, constructive criticism is most appreciated. _


	6. Chapter 6: How She Threw It All Away

_Once more I'd like to thank everyone for the reviews, they mean a lot to me Hmm, I kinda have a plan for this chapter...hope it goes okay. Another flashback planned but hopefully a little more Narcissa action this time!! Enjoy the chapter! _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

**.:Chapter 6:.**

"I need to tell you something important," started Bellatrix, her tone becoming deadly serious. "About my sister..."

"What about her, Bellatrix?"

Both Bellatrix's and Evan's eyes shot to where they perceived the cool and calm voice to come from; standing in the entrance way to the common room stood Narcissa Black, her arms folded obstinately across her chest. Her cobalt eyes glared mercilessly at her older sister... something unspoken inside told her that the footsteps she had heard in the corridor had belonged to her - call it intuition if you will. After seeing Bellatrix, the next thing that caught her attention was the physical closeness between her sister and Evan; she might as well have been sitting in his lap they were that close.

"So sorry to interrupt you, Bella," continued Narcissa, her voice still maintaining its collected coldness. "Please continue."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed until they were mere chips of obsidian blazing in the firelight. Her sister's untimely appearance had spoilt her plan to tell Evan about Narcissa's little 'encounter' with Lucius Malfoy, but there was no way Narcissa could guard Evan all the time. She would find a way to tell him in the end, and then she would watch as everything fell into place.

Evan felt his eyes shift between Bellatrix and Narcissa; they both seemed to be locked in a rather unfriendly staring match. However, the welcome appearance of Narcissa allowed for him to edge further away from Bellatrix who had really started to significantly impinge on his personal space.

"I was just about to inform Evan that Eltanin suggested you take Advanced Potions," smiled Bellatrix sweetly, an angry glint still remaining in her heavy-lidded eyes. "That's all."

"I see," replied Narcissa, she could see through her lies instantly, but she was nonetheless amazed that Bellatrix knew about the Advanced Potions.

"Wow, Narcissa," exclaimed Evan, his trademark smile emblazoned across his face. "That's really great!"

For the first time since she had entered the room, she fully turned her eyes to Evan Rosier who had managed to move away from Bellatrix's reclined figure. She didn't know why, but looking at him made her stomach recoil in guilt. She was supposed to be his girlfriend yet she had just come back from sharing a rather passionate kiss with Lucius Malfoy; surely all Evan was to her was just another rung on the ladder she had to climb to get what she wanted... right? _Right._

"I guess it is," mused Narcissa quietly, however, her mind was preoccupied with other things, past memories, abandonment, and betrayal... most definitely betrayal.

Hearing Bellatrix merely words away from exposing her, _betraying _her, had stirred up a memory she had so desperately tried to repress, tried to forget. This wouldn't have been the first time that a sister had betrayed her. Even though it was over a year ago, the anger and, indeed, the pain had taken their time to subside...

_It was a miserable summer day, clouds covered the sky with a grey haze blocking out the warmth of the sun. They had been shouting for over two hours now with no respite; Narcissa already knew the reason why, she had known longer than anyone. It wasn't that Andromeda had confided in her as sisters usually did, it had been by mere accident that she had found out her sister's secret. Sighing, Narcissa got up from her desk unable to concentrate on the book she was reading, and crossed to look out of her window. The house of Cygnus Black was situation within the countryside unlike the house of his brother, Orion Black, who much preferred city life. Narcissa had loved the holidays they had spent at Grimmauld Place, both her uncle and aunt were the epitome of everything a pureblood should be. However, she did have her reservations about their oldest son, her cousin, Sirius; he was two years younger than her, but she could already see the similarities between him and Andromeda. Their loyalties were not tied to blood..._

_Narcissa was shaken from her thoughts with the stomping of footsteps marching their way upstairs. Andromeda's step was much like her own, graceful and quiet which left only one other person to whom the footsteps could belong..._

"_Can I come in?" called Bellatrix Black through the solid oak door._

"_It's open," replied Narcissa, turning to face the opening doors._

_Bellatrix trudged in, still in her night robes. Her naturally wavy hair was all the more dishevelled and her normally sallow complexion was a deathly shade of white. Something had happened and Bellatrix did not look happy about whatever it was._

"_I can't believe she's done this," snarled Bellatrix, throwing herself down angrily onto Narcissa's rosewood bed. "Did you know about this?"_

"_Know about what?" lied Narcissa, opening the window slightly; for some reason the room seemed to have increased an extra twenty degrees since Bellatrix came in._

"_Come off it," scowled Bellatrix, sitting up and propping herself against one of the bed posts. "I know she's closer to you than me. She must have said something."_

_Narcissa merely shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. She didn't know why she was lying to protect Andromeda; she was a blood-traitor, wasn't she? Maybe it was because, even though the respect she had for her eldest sister was diminishing fast, she was still her sister... or maybe she just didn't want to get into an argument with Bellatrix especially on a day like today._

"_Fine," sighed Bellatrix. However, judging by the look on her face, it was __not__ fine._

_If truth be told Bellatrix had held her sister Andromeda in rather high esteem even though she was in Gryffindor. Not only was she intelligent and beautiful, but she carried herself with an air of regality that was very much befitting of a Black. Of course, it struck Bellatrix as odd that her sister wasn't sorted into Slytherin, but at the time she had just accepted it, what else was she to do? However, there was one thing that she hated and that was the fact that Andromeda had to sit and mingle with the common mudbloods that for some reason or another always ended up in Gryffindor – it made her blood boil to think that her pureblood sister had to interact with those inferior than herself. The revelation that had unfolded regarding Andromeda and a muggle-born Gryffindor had hit her hard although she would never admit it to anyone; at times she wouldn't even admit it to herself._

"_I just can't believe she would do this," repeated Bellatrix furiously, her fists clenching into angry balls. "She has no respect for her family or herself! What in Merlin's name was she thinking?!"_

"_Why don't you ask her?" suggested Narcissa calmly, wishing for some peace and quiet._

"_You know, you seem awfully calm about this situation!" retorted Bellatrix, turning on her sister. "Our sister is a blood-traitor! Not only has she disgraced herself but us, as her sisters! Don't you see?!"_

_Narcissa felt her eyes fall to the floor; there was truth in what Bellatrix said. Narcissa could go on forever shutting out the truths, asking the 'what ifs', but at the end of the day what Bellatrix said was true... her sister was a blood-traitor who had betrayed everything their family stood for. This realisation hurt, but Narcissa didn't know whether it was anger or pain that rose up inside her, eating away at her heart._

"_I do see," murmured Narcissa, bringing her eyes up to meet those of her sister's. "I just need some time alone..."_

_Bellatrix looked at her; she knew her younger sister never cried, she was a true Black in that sense, but something at that moment made her think that Narcissa's resolve would break. Nodding, Bellatrix respected her sister's wishes and left the room silently, trudging back down the stairs into the din below._

"_I'm not a child anymore!" cried Andromeda Black, her cheeks stained with tears._

"_So long as you live under my roof, you'll live by my rules!" shouted Cygnus Black, his thin face contorted in rage. "You will not have anything to do with that mudblood again! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"_

_Andromeda bit into her bottom lip and shook her head violently. She loved Ted; he was everything to her and she didn't care one bit that he was muggle-born. That was where she differed from the rest of her family – blood didn't matter to her, happiness and loyalty to her friends did._

"_Don't call him that!!" sobbed Andromeda, clutching her face in her hands. "He's not a mudblood!"_

"_I knew the day you were sorted into Gryffindor something like this would happen. I should have disowned you then!" snarled her father, advancing towards her. "No Black has ever been sorted into _**that**_ house."_

"_I don't care!" cried Andromeda defiantly. "I don't care about your ridiculous traditions and prejudices!"_

_She watched as Cygnus Black's face drained of all remaining colour; she knew that the words she had spoke were considered blasphemy to her father's ears._

"_What did you say?" questioned her father dangerously, his dark eyes growing wider and more bloodshot._

"_I don't care," sniffed Andromeda, attempting to regain her composure,. "The sooner I marry Ted, the sooner I can be rid of this cursed name!"_

"_Get out," whispered her father, his voice shaking with rage. "You are a disgrace. You always will be and I will no longer suffer the consequences for it."_

"_Father!" implored Andromeda, wishing she had controlled her temper; she knew there was no way her father would ever accept Ted, but to be disowned entirely?_

"_You have no right to address Cygnus of House Black as 'father' anymore," snarled Cygnus. "I am not your father and you are not my daughter."_

"_Please!"_

"_GET OUT!" raged Cygnus Black, raising his yew wand at his former daughter. "Or face the penalty."_

_Andromeda felt her mouth drop open as she saw her father pointing his wand at her. He truly meant to kill her if she didn't leave... Andromeda shakily nodded and headed upstairs to collect her pre-packed belongings._

_Lying on her bed, Narcissa had heard fragments of the argument and her father's angry, raised tones. So, Andromeda was to be disowned? Turning over to lie on her side, she caught sight of a picture of the three sisters together. She wasn't really that sentimental as to have pictures decorating her room like Andromeda did... this picture was there more for pride than anything. The three Black sisters, so similar yet each so very different... _

_A soft knock on her bedroom door distracted her attention away from the picture._

"_Who is it?" she asked._

"_It's me," came a soft reply. _

_Andromeda... so, she had come to say her goodbyes._

"_Come in," replied Narcissa rising from her bed into an upright position._

_She watched as her eldest sister crept into the room and perched silently on the edge of her bed. She looked like a nervous wreck her face was reddened, tearstained, and she was shaking all over. Andromeda Black she was no more; no Black would allow themselves to be reduced to this state or elope with a mudblood for that matter._

"_I-I just wanted to s-say goodbye," stuttered Andromeda, her voice choked with suppressed sobs._

"_Goodbye then," murmured Narcissa emotionlessly, trying not to look at her sister's pleading face._

"_Is that all you're going to say?" whispered Andromeda, disbelief seizing her features._

"_What else is there to say?" replied Narcissa, allowing herself a glance at her sister's face._

"_I-I expected more from you Cissa," admitted Andromeda tearfully, shaking her head._

_Narcissa remained silent, at a loss for what to say. It was true, there was nothing else to say, she was right in that respect. They were no longer sisters – Andromeda had seen to that the day she fell in love with that mudblood Ted Tonks._

"_Well then," stammered Andromeda, fresh tears once again springing to her eyes at her sister's lack of response. "I guess this is goodbye."_

_She moved closer to Narcissa's stationary position, her arms open in an attempt to give her youngest sister one last hug. However, the response she got threw her as she saw Narcissa recoil away from her, arms folded defensively across her chest. Andromeda bit her lip and felt her leaden arms drop down to her sides. So, this was it? Andromeda knew Narcissa would always be a Black perhaps to the end of her days, her and Bellatrix truly had bought into the societal nature of the Black family prejudices._

"_Before I go, there is something I want to tell you," began Andromeda, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Please don't marry for duty, Cissa. Remember that if nothing else. Nothing good can ever come of it."_

_And with that Andromeda Black was gone from her life forever. Narcissa felt her eyes shift to the picture that had caught her attention before Andromeda came in. However, something was different about it; there were now only two sisters in the picture. Andromeda truly had disappeared from their lives. A loan tear broke free and trickled down the side of Narcissa's pale cheek, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared._

"Hey Bella?" questioned Evan, shifting himself to face the girl in question. "I need to talk to Narcissa alone, if you catch my drift?"

Evan's mention of her name brought Narcissa back from her thoughts, snapping her out of her momentary glaze.

"Oh sure, Rosier," smirked Bellatrix, giving him a sly wink. "I catch your drift."

Bellatrix flashed her sister a devious smile, an action that conveyed more to Narcissa than words ever could. She knew she had to watch out for Bellatrix, she had always known that, but now it was different because the blood that bound them together was quickly beginning to lose its cohesion.

"See you around, Cissa," smiled Bellatrix as she departed for the dormitories.

Narcissa merely sighed, she was mentally exhausted and in no mood for her sister's feigned niceties. Narcissa was amazed at how much she, herself, had changed in the last few days; the Narcissa Black of a week ago would never have got herself into this situation, but then, to be fair, a week ago she didn't know the truths that she now knew about Lucius Malfoy.

"You sort stuff out with Eltanin?" queried Evan, beckoning her towards him.

"Yeah, just confirmation of the Advanced Potions lessons," replied Narcissa, placing her hand in his. She felt wretched lying to him.

"Where did Lucius go?" asked Evan, instantly changing the subject. "I didn't see him come back."

"I don't know," smiled Narcissa, sitting down next to him. "He left when I got to Eltanin's office. You need to speak to him?"

"Oh no," replied Evan, shaking his head. "Just wondered where he'd got to."

Narcissa merely shrugged and smiled at him. However, her smile was merely a cover – she could sense that he was starting to lose faith in her fidelity towards him. Of course, he had every right to be suspicious; she had, only moments ago, partaken in an act of infidelity with someone that could potentially disrupt all of her plans. She had to do something that would reaffirm his trust in her at least for another few weeks. She took comfort in the fact that her 'relationship' with Evan was already getting to Lucius, seeing her in the arms of another man didn't do much for his Malfoy pride, so it would only be a matter of time.

"Let's not worry about Lucius," sighed Narcissa, placing her hand on his.

"You're right," grinned Evan, his handsome smile illuminating his face.

Narcissa brought her face up to meet his and look at his intensely striking face. Why couldn't she have fallen for Evan? Why did it have to be Lucius Malfoy? _You know why. _She didn't have time to be thinking about these questions, she had to convince Evan that she had fallen for him and that Lucius meant nothing to her. She would not shirk away from the challenges she had set herself and with that she leant forward placing a gentle kiss on Evan's warm lips.

Evan was slightly taken aback by her forwardness, but nonetheless reciprocated the kiss. His left hand delicately cupped the side of her face whilst the other began to caress the small of her back, gently coaxing her closer towards him. His fears and doubts about Lucius and her seemingly subsided as he felt her hand run along the side of his chiselled face. She was perfect and she was his...

There was no mistaking the fact that Evan was an extremely good kisser, but the kiss lacked the intense raw passion that had forced its way into the embrace she shared with Lucius. She could feel her mind relieving that kiss over and over again, the pressure of his lips against hers and the urgency that penetrated through. Evan kissed her as if she were a fragile china doll likely to break at any moment, soft and tenderly instead of ardent and violently. Perhaps Lucius did have the right of it; maybe she was more like him than she knew?

"You seem to have a habit for spying on people," drawled a cold voice from the shadows.

Bellatrix turned away from the kissing couple and found herself face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy.

"It appears you do too," taunted Bellatrix. "See anything you like, Malfoy?"

"I know you were spying on me," stated Lucius, seemingly ignoring Bellatrix's last remark. "I want to know the reason why."

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," smirked Bellatrix, wagging her finger at him condescendingly. "I was merely keeping an eye on my sister; that's all."

"Your sister, I believe, is quite capable of looking after herself," retorted Lucius, her weak lies failing to faze him. "Now why don't you tell me the real reason why you were spying?"

"Hmm, where would be the fun in that?" sighed Bellatrix, cocking her head to one side.

Lucius rolled his eyes at her; he was in no mood for these types of mind games especially from Bellatrix Black. He felt his eyes rest on Narcissa and Rosier – he didn't know what her game was, but he was sure as hell going to find out. The best person to start with was always Bellatrix...

"Quid pro quo," murmured Lucius in Bellatrix's ear. "You tell me something, I'll tell you something. Mutually beneficial, don't you agree?"

"Quid pro quo it is," smiled Bellatrix, her eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"Why were you spying on me?" began Lucius, leaning against the wall.

"A favour for a friend," replied Bellatrix lying.

Lucius pondered Bellatrix's reply – she was spying for a friend? Rosier perhaps? It would definitely make sense. Of course, he knew that whatever she told him, he would have to take with a pinch of salt.

"My turn – What are your intentions towards my darling sister?"

He chuckled softly at Bellatrix's quickfire question – he didn't know himself what his designs were on Narcissa. He wanted her, there was no doubt about that, but he couldn't pinpoint why – perhaps it was her bloodline or the fact that she was so impenetrable and cold that he wanted a challenge. It could have been something else... but his pride got the better of him before he could admit to it.

"She's a challenge," smirked Lucius, "and you know how I _love_ challenges."

"Don't we all?" whispered Bellatrix, casting him a sly smile.

"What did you tell Narcissa about me after the Hogsmeade trip?" questioned Lucius silkily.

"Can't you guess?" giggled Bellatrix innocently.

"Now, now, Bellatrix," reprimanded Lucius sarcastically. "You know the rules... quid pro quo."

"Let's just say she won't be barking up the wrong tree anymore," smiled Bellatrix, fixing him with a satisfied smile.

Lucius' face darkened as he looked at Bellatrix with the utmost contempt. He didn't need to know what she had told Narcissa – he had a good idea as to what it was. It all made sense now, he had taken Narcissa to Hogsmeade, he knew Bellatrix's intentions towards him and she had therefore lied in order to turn Narcissa against him. Perhaps this was why she was in the arms of Evan Rosier? It had to be...

"I guess you have done her favour," sighed Lucius, maintaining his collected composure. "After all, I really am a rather bad influence, aren't I?"

"Too right," replied Bellatrix assuredly. "I can't have my dear sister corrupted by Lucius Malfoy."

"Indeed," smiled Lucius, rubbing his chin casually with hand. "As always you have been of tremendous use."

"When am I not?" teased Bellatrix, running her hand across his chest.

"True," murmured Lucius, pushing back a curtain of black hair behind her ear.

Bellatrix slyly smiled at his touch and turned to walk back towards the girl's dormitories.

"'Til next time, Malfoy," whispered Bellatrix, her warm breath tickling the side of his face.

Lucius smiled as he watched Bellatrix disappear into shadow; he had learnt a lot from this little intrigue. He had doubts as to the validity of the information she had given him, but what she had told him seem to fit with his original ideas. It would only be matter of time before he put this newly acquired knowledge into practice and with the Christmas Ball coming up at the Lestrange residence he knew that time would be soon.

"Soon Miss Black," whispered Lucius, his grey eyes settling once more on Narcissa's face. "Soon."

_Yawns That took so much out of me! Sorry if it was a bit boring – the Christmas Ball will be coming up soon, maybe next chapter or one after. That should make for some interesting reading. Anyway, hope you semi-enjoyed this chapter. The next one will be better! Remember, constructive criticism is welcome! ;;_


	7. Chapter 7: A Hazy Shade Of Winter

_Hi everyone! I've got a feeling this is a rather Lucius chapter so I hope all you Lucy fans enjoy it! Thanks for the reviews – like I say, they make me want to keep on writing and I love reading about what people think. Thanks again, and without further ado, may I present Chapter 7 of 'Back to Black' _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

**:Chapter 7:.**

Narcissa Black stared vacantly out of her dormitory window, her cobalt eyes glazed over, her mind deep in thought. A soft layer of snow had begun to settle on the granite windowsill below, virgin and untouched. Her eagle feather quill occasionally brushed against her lips as she absentmindedly watched tiny flashes of green whizzing around the Quidditch hoops. For some reason she just couldn't concentrate on the Potions homework Professor Eltanin had set, her mind was just too preoccupied. Letting out a sigh, she resigned to do her homework later – she needed some fresh air and a distraction; the silence of the dormitory made her think too much. Grabbing her ermine-lined cloak, she wrapped it about her shoulders and clasped it together with the Black coat-of-arms. She glanced at herself quickly in the mirror before departing from the dormitory and heading into the blizzard that awaited her outside.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Parkinson?" snarled Lucius angrily. "Aim for the hoops not the stands!"

Basil Parkinson grit his teeth together in determination; he could see the rest of them looking at him in exasperation. He knew all too well that he was by far the weakest component of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"I'll show them," he muttered under his breath, his knuckles clenching tightly around the broom shaft.

Their captain, Lucius, had insisted that they train in all types of weather and, of course, that happened to include blinding blizzards of snow. He had also declared that anyone found wearing gloves or warming their hands with any type of heating spell were to be thrown off the team immediately. He wanted Slytherin to be the hardest, toughest and most ruthless team at Hogwarts and to fulfil that quota their pain threshold was to be tested to the limits. No one argued with Lucius Malfoy – even the seventh years, Theon Travers and Stefan Wilkes held their younger Captain in high esteem, silently approving of his captaincy. It had to be said that the whole reason why Slytherin had held the Quidditch Cup for two consecutive years was solely due to Lucius Malfoy...not the team, but him.

"You ready, Parkinson?" bawled Rosier, who had the quaffle tucked neatly under his arm.

"Yeah," replied Basil, giving Evan a shaky thumbs-up.

"Do your worst, Parkinson!" hollered Rabastan Lestrange who was circling the Quidditch hoops menacingly.

Basil watched as Evan and Lucius dribbled the quaffle to each other, skilfully outmanoeuvring Wilkes and Travers. When the quaffle was finally in Lucius' possession, he sped down the Quidditch pitch towards Basil's stationary position. Lucius launched the quaffle towards him with a phenomenal speed; stretching out Basil caught the quaffle, partially thrown backwards by the surprising power behind it. Tucking the quaffle under his arm, he sped off towards the goal ready to face Rabastan Lestrange. Flecks of snow obscured his vision but he could just make out the dark figure of the eldest Lestrange seemingly guarding all the hoops at once.

"Come on Parkinson!" yelled Evan encouragingly.

Spurred on by Evan's words of support, Basil leant forward urging his broom onwards. Out of the corner of his eye, he could glimpse Wilkes and Travers gaining on him fast, beaters at the ready. His body was now parallel to the broom stick as he saw Rabastan Lestrange approaching fast.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered to himself and, with all the might and accuracy he could muster, hurled the quaffle at the left hoop, praying for a goal.

Narcissa felt the biting cold touch of the wind whipping against her cheeks as she walked headlong into the snow blizzard. She didn't know whereabouts she was walking to, but she figured that she would get to the lake eventually. There was something about the lake in winter that made it more beautiful than at any other time of the year – in winter, it was quiet, peaceful and frozen. Smiling, she pulled her cloak tighter around her, and continued to trudge through the ever-rising levels of snow. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a loud cheer and random shouts of encouragement. She supposed someone on the Quidditch team had scored... maybe it was Evan? _Why did I think of Evan?_ Shaking her head, she assumed that it was most probably Lucius who had scored. _Yes, that's more logical._

It truly was bitterly cold and Narcissa was beginning to have second thoughts about walking all the way towards the lake However, the one good thing about the cold was that it partially kept her mind off of two certain people who never seemed to leave her thoughts. She didn't know how long she could keep up this façade with Evan – their relationship was beginning to get more serious than she had anticipated, although partly through her own initiation. Not only was there that, but also the fact that Bellatrix knew about Lucius and her and would not keep quiet for long. It seemed that everything she had spent so long envisaging was unravelling fast...

Basil Parkinson had jammed his eyes shut the moment the quaffle had left his grasp; it was only the cheer from his surrounding Slytherin team mates that coaxed his eyes back open. He felt a dozen hands clapping him hard on the back in manly congratulations.

"I went easy on you," growled Rabastan, brushing snow off his shoulders. "Next time you won't be so lucky."

"Losing your touch, brother?" smirked Rodolphus, who for the past hour had been chasing the Golden Snitch around the pitch, and now held it in his grasp.

"No more than you," retorted Rabastan, seizing the Snitch out of his brother's hands. "You took too long in catching this."

"Maybe you haven't noticed," snarled Rodolphus, snatching the Snitch back, "but visibility is pretty non-existent."

"Still," sighed Rabastan, "your performance was fairly poor at best. Even Parkinson did better."

"Whatever," replied Rodolphus angrily, his blue eyes hardening.

"He's right," came the cool, familiar voice of their team captain.

Lucius hovered next to Rabastan, his blonde wind-strewn hair dusted with flakes of snow.

"You are getting careless," reprimanded Lucius, his grey eyes fixed on Rodolphus. "Carelessness does not factor into my team, do you understand?"

"Yeah," replied Rodolphus dejectedly.

"Pardon?" countered Lucius, an angry edge detectable in his voice.

"Yes, Lucius," Rodolphus replied, correcting himself and looking his captain determinedly in the eye.

"Good," nodded Lucius, signalling for him to go. "Now Parkinson, it would seem you are making _some_ improvements, but don't get complacent."

Basil nodded; it wasn't exactly praise, but at least Lucius was recognising that he was trying.

"I have a feeling though," continued Lucius, the wind ripping at his robes, "that Rabastan was going easy on you."

"Glad someone noticed," sighed Rabastan sarcastically.

Basil merely nodded again and headed back to the changing rooms; the praise he had received seemed to have collapsed in on itself. So Rabastan really was going easy on him? He felt disappointment wash over him; it wasn't fair – he would never be as good as Lucius or Evan, he might as well just quit now.

"Don't you even think about quitting," hollered Lucius after him. "I'll see you expelled if you do!"

His frown turned into a smile as Basil heard Lucius' departing words – he could swear Malfoy was a mind-reader or something. To normal ears, it didn't sound like encouragement, but it was all Basil needed to hear and he had a feeling Lucius knew that too.

"Rosier," started Lucius, his eyes narrowing on the agile frame of his fellow Chaser. "Your performance was rather sloppy, don't you think?"

"Sorry, I was rather-,"

"Distracted?" interrupted Lucius sharply.

Evan grinned, refusing to let Lucius' chastisement get to him.

"If you can't keep your mind off of Narcissa Black during practice," threatened Lucius, noticing Evan's idle grin, "then you're off the team; consider that a warning."

"Jealous, Malfoy?" challenged Evan dryly, before flying off towards the changing rooms, his mind ablaze with anger.

"Don't flatter yourself, Rosier," muttered Lucius under his breath.

"Now, now Malfoy," taunted Rabastan, clapping a friendly hand on Lucius' shoulder. "Play nice."

Lucius brushed off Rabastan's hand, his mind reeling from Rosier's outburst of insolence. That _boy_ needed to be taught a lesson, but now was not the right time, no, not yet.

"Good play, but there is still room for improvement," shouted Lucius at the three remaining players. "Same time Monday. Dismissed!"

He watched as the remains of his team flew off in the direction of the changing rooms; Lucius contemplated following them, but now that he was accustomed to the cold, he felt like some freedom from his time-consuming schedule. He knew that when he got back to his dorm he would have to write an essay on the Vampire Class Revolution of 1890 for History of Magic and, right now, he wasn't in the mood for academia. He needed somewhere quiet, isolated... Evan's comment, he had to admit, was still ringing in his ears. _Lucius Malfoy jealous of Evan Rosier? Not likely_... but then why had it affected him so badly? Maybe he was jealous.

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy," he muttered angrily under his breath. "You could have anyone you want."

But he didn't just want 'anyone' – anyone just wasn't good enough for him; he wanted the best there was and he would do whatever was in his power to get the best. Besides, there was no denying it, Narcissa Black was the most attractive girl he had ever seen and she was like him in ways she would never know... it angered him to see her in the arms of someone like Rosier. However, that would all change soon. Shaking the settling snow from his hair, he swiftly sped off to the one place he knew he would find both solitude and solace.

Narcissa didn't know how long she'd been walking for, the repetitive lines of snow-coated pine trees made it seem like hours. Everywhere she looked was white and, even though the blizzard had died down, she could barely make out Hogwarts itself. The cheering from the Quidditch pitch had disappeared which led her to believe it was little after eleven o' clock – Evan would probably be on his way up to her dormitory soon to conclude last night's events. She would be lying if she said that she didn't like the attention – she did and she would, under any other circumstances, have considered having a proper relationship with Evan, but she just couldn't; not now, not ever

Her head was swimming – her feelings for Lucius, no matter how much she tried to deny them, were unchanged even after what Bellatrix had told her. She hated herself for being so weak, so emotional – and part of her hated Lucius for what had happened yesterday; the kiss had, indeed, weakened her resolve, although she was loathe to admit it. No matter how much she tried to manipulate the situation to favour her, Lucius always swung it back the other way. She would show him though, she declared to herself, she would show him that she wasn't someone to be trifled with. She picked up her pace determined to reach the lake and have a well-deserved rest whilst plotting her next course of action.

When she finally set eyes on the frozen lake, she was surprised to see that she was not the only one there. Aside from a party of Ravenclaws ice-skating, another lone figure was sitting by the lakeside, a dark silhouette outlined in white. Narcissa approached the lake carefully, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. The closer she got to the lake, the more she could distinguish of the robed figure. The blizzard had picked up once again and torrents of wet snowflakes were impinging on her vision, yet she could just make out green robes and blonde hair...

Narcissa felt herself stop dead in her tracks as the realisation of who it was hit her.

"Oh," she exclaimed, half surprised, half shocked.

"Morning, Miss Black," smiled the robed figure, his pale face turned towards her.

Lucius looked at her intently, a grim smile on his lips. The cold had done little to lessen her beauty, in fact the wind had brought the faintest hint of red to her cheeks making her seem less doll-like and more alive. The bottom of her obviously expensive ermine cloak was sodden wet and caked with clods of thick snow.

"Good morning," replied Narcissa emotionlessly.

Nodding politely, she felt herself turning around to head back to Hogwarts; she just couldn't bear being in his company at the moment. Her mind was already in such turmoil from yesterday that she just wasn't prepared to risk another fatal encounter.

"It would seem like a wasted trip if you head back now," called Lucius, watching her, "especially since you have just arrived. Will you not stay?"

"I was hoping for some time alone," stated Narcissa sincerely, turning back round to answer him.

"Bored of Rosier already?" retorted Lucius sarcastically, silently hoping that she hadn't detected the bitter jealousy in his voice.

Lucius turned his eyes away from her and looked out across the expanse of the lake. He was hoping for solitude, but a ghastly group of Ravenclaws had ruined that with their ungraceful attempts at ice-skating.

"No," replied Narcissa, who had begun to walk slowly back towards him, aware of the fact he was baiting her, but nonetheless determined to make a stand. "Why are you here anyway?"

"I was hoping for some time alone," imitated Lucius, his gaze still fixed intently on the lake.

"You're always alone," she murmured quietly under her breath, taking a snowy seat next to him.

Lucius' gaze broke away from the lake and fell on Narcissa's serene countenance. He was surprised at her comeback, but he couldn't deny that there wasn't any truth behind it. Sure, he had his inner circle of friends, but they didn't really _know_ him and he had a feeling their friendship was rather fair-weather. If he wasn't who he was, heir of the Malfoy family, prefect, Quidditch Captain, then he believed they would treat him with the same disregard they treated everyone else with. It wasn't as if Lucius had a problem with it, he treated them in exactly the same way; if one of them fell out of favour with him then that was that. Lucius was just taken back by the fact that Narcissa had been so perceptive of his situation and, unwittingly, of her own.

"Then, so are you," concluded Lucius, tempted to draw on a list of parallels between his life and hers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she countered, her inflamed eyes locking with his.

"I think you know more than you let on," returned Lucius, his sharp eyes maintaining their hold on hers.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," announced Lucius, his eyes breaking from hers and returning to the lake. "You are alone because of who you are; no matter how many people you surround yourself with, you will always be alone... the same goes for me."

Narcissa felt her mouth drop open at his answer; not only was she shocked by his seemingly open sincerity, but the fact that he seemed to have surprising knowledge of her situation for reasons she just couldn't understand. _To be a pureblood is to be alone_. She recalled her mother Druella's words that, at the time, meant nothing to her, but now meant more than she could know.

"To be a pureblood is to be alone," she whispered softly, her lips barely moving. "Alone."

"_Come here, child," commanded Druella Black from her sickbed. "Sit."_

_Even in the latter stages of her illness, Druella Black still had the commanding personality she had during the healthier days of her life. Narcissa could still remember her mother's strong will and unbending determination even though for most of her life she had seen her bedridden. Sitting on the edge of the antique four-poster bed, she took her mother's hand in her own. Druella smiled at her youngest daughter's touch; she was so unlike both Andromeda and Bellatrix, but carried a surprising mixture of both their traits._

"_Mother?" questioned Narcissa, noticing the slight smile on her lips._

"_Nothing, child," replied Druella, patting her daughter's hand with her own._

"_Do you need anything," started Narcissa strongly, "for the pain?" Her voice wavering at the mention of her mother's condition._

"_The pain is bearable," Druella replied stalwartly, "but not for you, my child. I can see it in your eyes."_

_Narcissa felt ashamed that her mother had seen through her strong resolve and exposed her weakness. She knew her mother did not have long left to live and for her to see her youngest daughter acting so weakly must have disappointed her._

"_I've disappointed you mother," whispered Narcissa, her eyes to the floor._

"_No child," smiled Druella, her hand resting on her daughter's, "you haven't. It takes courage to show ones emotions."_

"_Emotions make us weak," countered Narcissa softly, remembering the rules her father had constantly drummed into her._

"_And, sadly, that will be your father's downfall," resigned Druella, her breathing becoming more laboured, "but hopefully not yours."_

_Narcissa merely nodded, surprised at her mother's outward rebuke against her father. She knew that their marriage was one of convenience, most pureblood marriages were, but somewhere in the depths of her heart, she hoped hers might amount to more than just mutual gain. However, she had cruelly learnt not to trust a hope...for that was all they were._

"_Narcissa," began her mother, her voice fading. "It pains me so to know that I will be leaving you so soon."_

"_Sssh," soothed Narcissa. "Don't waste your strength."_

"_No!" exclaimed Druella, exasperated at being treated like an invalid. "Listen to me!"_

_Narcissa fell quiet; whatever her mother had to say was obviously important and there was the ever looming threat that they could be the last words she would ever utter again._

"_It pains me to leave you in this world alone," she sighed, her hand loosening its grip on her daughter's. "I know you are strong, but..."_

"_I am strong, mother," replied Narcissa boldly. "And I won't be alone, Bella and Andromeda will be here."_

"_My child," smiled Druella, shaking her head at her daughter's naivety, "to be a pureblood is to be alone."_

"_I don't understand," came Narcissa's confused reply._

_Druella felt her smile widen slightly, how could she understand? She was eight years old... a mere child. However, Druella had no doubt that she would understand the gravity of her words later on in life, when the situation to remember them presented itself._

"_You will, Narcissa," reassured Druella Black softly, her eyes lulling shut. "You will."_

_Narcissa felt her mother's hand gradually go limp in her own and the ragged coarseness of her breathing cease. Before she had died she had imparted wisdom that would affect Narcissa's life in ways she couldn't comprehend, not yet. All the young Black daughter could do now was kiss her mother's forehead, whisper a soft prayer to their Gods and wait... wait for a moment that might never appear. _

"Words of wisdom indeed," came Lucius' collected response.

Narcissa turned towards him, her mind still awash with images of her mother's last few minutes.

"They were my mother's," replied Narcissa quietly, her eyes studying his balanced composure as he continued to look out across the vast expanse.

"Then she schooled you well," concluded Lucius, finally looking at her face, their eyes locking together once more.

"They meant nothing to me before," began Narcissa, unsure as to why she was indulging in this sincerity, "but now..."

"Now," interrupted Lucius, "they mean more than anything?"

"Yes," Narcissa admitted, her eyes breaking away from his. She felt totally exposed, his determined eyes uncovering her secrets.

Lucius watched as she broke away from his stare and looked down to the ground. He could almost feel her attempting to rebuild the defences her involuntary sincerity had partially shattered. Sighing, he reached out to her, gently turning her face towards him. She truly was beautiful, especially in her rare moments of unforced sincerity.

"Perhaps now you realise how alike we are... Narcissa."

_Ooo that was so much fun! I had great fun writing this chapter. Another flashback, unintended I must admit, but did you enjoy it? As always, I love to hear what people think about the story... and don't worry chaps, the Lestrange Christmas Ball will be coming soon: Confrontations, romance, angst? I wouldn't miss it for the world! ;;_


	8. Chapter 8: Half A World Away

_Okay, sorry to disappoint y'all, but this isn't the Christmas Ball chapter. It's kinda the build up to it; I __think __Chapter 9 will host the Lestrange soiree. Nevertheless, this chapter deals with more character development and the potential introduction of a new character. Sorry if it seems to be dragging on, just want to make sure that all the characters get some development. Thanks for all your reviews – _Vanessa Black-Zabini _I will __try__ and include some more romance for you (__try__ being the operative word). Enjoy the chappie! _Character copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 8:.**

"N-Narcissa, will you go to the B-Ball with me?" mumbled a short, sandy haired boy at his reflection in the full-length mirror. "No no, that won't do."

Turning away from the mirror, he rehearsed the lines again to himself, gesticulating with his hands. Once more, he turned towards the mirror and began his speech again.

"Narcissa, will you go to the Ball with me?" he announced, his podgy face concentrating hard.

"Fat chance of that Rookwood," smirked a familiar voice.

Whirling around, Augustus Rookwood saw the tall, lithe frame of Rodolphus Lestrange, fresh from Quidditch practice, leaning nonchalantly against the dormitory wall. How long had he been there? Augustus began nervously fidgeting with his hands, conscious of the fact that Rodolphus had probably heard all of his imaginary conversation.

"R-Rodolphus," stammered Rookwood. "N-need something?"

"Nah, not really," replied Rodolphus. "Just thought I'd check up on my old pal Rookwood."

"O-okay," stuttered Augustus, his eyes darting around the dormitory as if looking for a way to escape.

"So, you got designs on Cissa?" drawled Rodolphus, his blue eyes fixed on the plump third year. "Don't think Evan'll be too pleased about that now, will he?

"Y-you w-won't tell him, will you?" replied Augustus, his watery blue eyes paling in comparison to the older boy's.

"And what if I do?" countered Rodolphus; he was still reeling from his public humiliation and Rookwood was the perfect target to vent some spleen on.

"P-please don't," begged Rookwood, staggering forward to physically implore with Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Aw, you're going to have to do better then that," sighed Rodolphus, enjoying the way Rookwood was practically grovelling at his feet.

"I-I d-don't know h-how," stammered Rookwood, truly at a loss for words. _What does he want from me?_

"Guess I'll just go find Evan then," grinned Rodolphus, turning away from the snivelling third year.

"N-no! Wait, please," implored Augustus, grappling at Rodolphus' day-robes. "I'll do anything!"

"Anything, hmm?" pondered Rodolphus, his eyes flashing with malice. "Beg me… beg me to tell you."

"Merlin, do your insecurities run that deep, brother?" drawled an exasperated voice.

Rodolphus and Augustus watched as the tall figure of Rabastan Lestrange entered the third year dormitory. His duty as a prefect took him to each year's dormitory in order to inspect them and report back to Eltanin. Professor Eltanin was a stickler for order and tidiness; he didn't believe that the house elves did a thorough enough job, and so employed his prefects to carry out dorm inspections every Saturday.

"Demanding praise from third years?" smirked Rabastan. "Just when I thought you could sink no lower."

Rodolphus felt his brother's startling emerald eyes mocking him, taunting him. His elder brother had always made him feel inferior and, in their parents' eyes, Rabastan was forever the favourite. No matter how hard Rodolphus tried, whether at Quidditch or academically, his efforts went unnoticed.

"Rookwood, isn't it?" Rabastan continued, taking note of his brother's uncharacteristic silence. "You will report to Professor Eltanin at once... something to do with a Potions detention, I believe."

"Y-yes sir," mumbled Rookwood, literally falling over himself to escape from the dormitory.

"Now, insecurities aside," started Rabastan, his eyes still focused on his brother's surly countenance, "I want a few words with you about our friend Dolohov."

"What about him?" growled Rodolphus, crossing his arms across his chest.

"There has been a rather remarkable change of plan," began Rabastan, walking towards the window. "It would appear that our Durmstrang friend has requested a transfer to dear, old Hogwarts."

"You serious?!" exclaimed Rodolphus, a frown creasing his sallow brow.

"Oh, that's not all, brother," smiled Rabastan, his eyes focused on the Gryffindors speeding around the Quidditch pitch.

"What else?" asked Rodolphus, joining his brother at the window.

"He's arriving tomorrow," replied Rabastan, his breath misting on the frosted pane.

* * *

The fierce blizzard had ceased, yet soft dustings of snow still fell, settling in the blonde hair of Narcissa Black. Lucius' hand felt surprisingly warm against her cold cheek, his grey, searching eyes had settled upon her own, and there the two of them sat in silence and solitude. Lucius' last words had surprised her, even though she had heard him say them so many times. _Perhaps now you realise how alike we are... Narcissa. _ Maybe now was the time to ask him what had plagued her thoughts for so long... she needed to hear it from him, Bellatrix's words were now no longer enough.

"I need to ask you something," began Narcissa, her unwavering gaze still fixed on his steely eyes.

"Something about Bellatrix and I?" came his cool reply, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," replied Narcissa, a hint of confusion hanging on every word. "How did you...?"

"Let's just say Bellatrix has a way with words," smiled Lucius, his hand gently stroking the soft contours of her cheek.

"So, you know," sighed Narcissa, her eyes breaking away from his as she looked away. "And is it true?"

"What if it is?" countered Lucius; placing a curved finger under her chin, he lifted her face back up to face his own.

"It's a simple enough question," replied Narcissa; wanting a straight answer and getting one were obviously two different matters.

"Oh, I realise that," smiled Lucius. "I just want to know what it is to you?"

"I don't understand," replied Narcissa, a frown creasing her brow. _Why won't he tell me?_

"Well, you are obviously _blissfully_ happy with Rosier," drawled Lucius, his eyes drinking in her confusion. "Why would you care what happened between Bellatrix and I?"

"The other day you were trying to convince me I was unhappy with Evan," sighed Narcissa smiling, proud of the fact she had tripped him up. "What's it to be?"

Lucius felt himself smile; she had pinned him down alright... smart as well as beautiful - a lethal combination. Did he want to tell her that Bellatrix had sold her a pack of lies? Or did he want her to keep guessing for a little while longer? Sincerity was generally not becoming of a Malfoy, and he had been sincere with her enough for the time being.

"Clever, Miss Black," replied Lucius amusedly, "but not clever enough."

"Don't toy with me," retorted Narcissa, her anger flaring.

"But it's so much fun," mused Lucius, running a finger contemplatively along his lips.

Narcissa knew he was manipulating her, dangling the information in front of her just beyond her reach. This was all a game to him – she was just a game to him. How could she have been so naïve? Her sincerity had put her off-guard and lulled her into a false sense of security – obviously just what he had wanted. No matter what she felt for him, she would not be made a fool of... no-one makes a fool of a Black.

"I am glad I amuse you," snarled Narcissa, pushing herself off from the ground.

The feeling of a hand grabbing her wrist seemed to be an almost natural occurrence, especially when in the company of Lucius Malfoy.

"I've offended you," began Lucius, bringing himself up into a standing position whilst retaining his grip on her delicate wrist.

"Let go of me," she began, her free hand reaching into her cloak.

"Or what?" asked Lucius, his hand stroking the side of her face.

"Or else..." smiled Narcissa, her rosewood wand resting just below his Adam's apple.

"You wouldn't dare," smirked Lucius, seemingly unphased by the fact he had a wand pointed at his throat.

"Oh, really?" came the confident reply. "Just try me."

"Fine," smiled Lucius, reaching into his robes and drawing out his own ebony wand. "Have it your way."

* * *

The silence of the changing room was broken with the sound of bone crunching against wood. Evan Rosier felt the pain spread through his fist, sending shockwaves of agony up his forearm. His body was shaking with a silent rage; beads of fever sweat had broken out across his brow and anger, instead of blood, coursed through his veins. The one good thing about the pain, however, was that it seemed to sate the irresistible temptation to tear off his Quidditch robes and throw them at Lucius Malfoy's feet.

"Let's see him find another Chaser," muttered Evan under his breath.

He flexed his grazed, bleeding knuckles watching the bone and tendons pushing at the surface of his angry, reddened skin. This wasn't like him... he felt as if he'd jumped into another person's body; he just didn't feel like himself anymore. Why had Lucius' comment enraged him so? Why was he so bothered by it? If truth be told, he didn't really know why... he thought it might have had something to do with Narcissa, or maybe it was the fact that Lucius had pretty much humiliated him in front of the whole Quidditch team. He knew he would have brushed something like that off though...

"Merlin, Rosier," he growled at himself. "Get a grip!"

His wandering mind had made him unaware of the dark figure that leaned casually against the changing room doorframe. She had seen his fist connect with the solid wood broom lockup and had heard the crack that accompanied it. She had watched as he had mentally wrestled with himself over, what she could only imagine had something to do with the Slytherin captain, Lucius Malfoy. Smiling, she sensed that this surprising bout of mental vulnerability could, indeed, work in her favour.

"Evan?" inquired a silky voice. "Are you okay?"

Evan whirled around, his eyes settling on the lean frame of Bellatrix Black propped against the doorframe. The usual Slytherin robes were gone; instead she was wearing a black leather pencil skirt with a risqué slit up the left side. The upper half of her body was encased in a black velvet corset trimmed with Venetian lace. Her dark hair lay tussled about her shoulders, her lips rouged. Evan felt his eyes unwittingly run over the curves of her body hungrily. Last night had largely left his desires unsatisfied; there was no denying the fact that Narcissa drove him wild, but he needed something more, more than just promises...

"I'm fine, Bella," lied Evan, smiling whilst flexing his knuckles almost subconsciously. "What brings you down here?"

"Hmm," mused Bellatrix smiling, "that's for me to know and you to find out."

"Well, Rodolphus left awhile ago," replied Evan, remembering Rodolphus' offish nature after practice. "…Not in the best of moods either."

"Who said anything about Rodolphus?" grinned Bellatrix, pushing herself from the doorframe and closing the door behind her.

"You, uh, hiding out from someone?" questioned Evan, his eyes flicking between her and the closed door.

"Maybe," teased Bellatrix, walking towards him.

His fathomless amber eyes now remained fixed on her as she stalked towards him, her heels clicking cleanly on the stone floor. Evan felt himself wanting to bolt for the door, to escape from this situation, but something forced him to stay. Some primordial desire had taken hold of his senses – he wanted to feel as if he were in control of his situation, something he hadn't felt in awhile. He was loathe to admit it, but he felt as if it were Narcissa who was really running the show, the relationship was most definitely on her terms.

"Y'know," started Bellatrix, running her hands over his chest, "my sister doesn't deserve you."

"Bella," sighed Evan, aware of her closeness. "Flattery will get you-,"

"Everywhere," interrupted Bellatrix slyly, her hand moving from Evan's chest to cup his handsome face.

Evan merely smiled; he didn't know what Bellatrix's game was, but whatever it was he knew it was a dangerous one. _You play with fire, you get your hands burnt_. It was a risk he just wasn't prepared to take... there was too much at stake, no matter how much he _wanted_ the kind of prize she was offering...

"Sorry Bella," started Evan, "but that just won't work with me."

"Oh, really?" smiled Bellatrix knowingly, her red lips brushing softly against his own.

He could feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips tickling the gentle contours of his mouth – it was an enticing feeling, but his loyalties to both Rodolphus and Narcissa were stronger than that. Evan brought his hand up to stroke the side of Bellatrix's face; smiling softly, he tilted her head down, before gently kissing her on the forehead, the way a brother would kiss a sister. He could see her onyx-black eyes searching his own for some explanation of his actions.

"I'm sorry, but I've only got eyes for one girl," replied Evan, gently removing her hand from his face. "Look, I'll see you around, Bella,"

Evan gave her one last fleeting look, one of an unspoken regret, before silently heading towards the door of the lockup.

"Not if I see you first, Rosier" whispered Bellatrix calmly, whilst watching Evan close the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

"What are you waiting for?" laughed Lucius, watching Narcissa's eyes flicker between him and the wand pointed at her throat.

"Gentlemen first," she replied, her eyes flashing in defiance.

She didn't truly understand the madness that possessed her to draw her wand against Lucius – a sixth year who was, undoubtedly, far more accomplished at spell-work than herself. Part of her was starting to regret the situation she had gotten herself into and wondered why she hadn't just slapped him and bolted. Deep down, Narcissa knew the reason why she hadn't slapped him though, it was because that was how muggles dealt with things, and she was hardly going to lower herself to their level.

"Miss Black, you've never pointed a wand at someone before, have you?" observed Lucius, watching the way her wand hand trembled.

"That's what you think," lied Narcissa, attempting to throw him off guard with her feigned confidence.

"Explain to me then, why your hand trembles so?" mused Lucius, a playful grin toying at the corners of his mouth.

"The cold," replied Narcissa through gritted teeth.

"Look, Miss Black, you point a wand at someone, you use it!" exclaimed Lucius, irritated by her incessant lies."Now use it!"

"Don't push me!" retorted Narcissa, steadying her wand-hand.

"Why not?" Lucius countered dangerously, his ebony wand tracing the outline of her jaw. "Scared you might like it?"

"Hardly," scoffed Narcissa, her cobalt eyes narrowing in defiance.

"I grow tired of this," sighed Lucius disinterestedly, dropping his wand from her neck. "I see you are nothing but talk."

"Giving up so easily, Malfoy?" teased Narcissa, tracing her wand up from his

Adam's apple until it was resting underneath his chin. "I see **you** are nothing but-,"

"_Stupefy_!"

Lucius watched as Narcissa fell, stunned, into his awaiting arms. He had to admit, it was a dirty trick to play, but at least it ended the situation calmly. Lucius knew that she didn't have the nerve to cast a spell against him, even if she did, he would have been ready for it. Kneeling down in the soft snow, he gently cradled her sleeping form in his arms; she was so fragile and beautiful, but he knew, underneath it all there was a force to be reckoned with. Lucius brushed strands of gold from her icy countenance, his fingers drinking in the smoothness of her skin.

"It was for your own good, Narcissa," whispered Lucius, his hand tenderly stroking the side of her face. "You'll find out what you want to know, and more, soon enough... I promise."

Lucius leant in and placed a soft kiss on her slightly parted lips sealing his promise. Deftly, he scooped up Narcissa's sleeping frame, cradling her in his arms. He decided against risking the journey back to Hogwarts on broomstick, the last thing he wanted was an enraged Cygnus Black on his case. Instead, Lucius set back to Hogwarts on foot, racing broom hovering beside him, his dark, robed figure silhouetted against the drifts of virgin snow.

* * *

He wrapped his heavy fur cloak closer around him as he stood looking up at the foreboding fortress of the wizard prison, Azkaban. Tendrils of eerie fog writhed up the watchtowers like ghostly tentacles, concealing the constellations above from sight. His portkey to Diagon Alley would not be ready until later on in the evening, so he had time for one last visit... Headmaster Vlad Ivanovich had kindly arranged his portkey from Durmstrang to Azkaban in order for him to pay his parents a final visit before his transfer to Hogwarts. Ivanovich was pained to lose one of his best students; like his parents before him, Antonin Dolohov showed remarkable talent in all manner of subjects, but most especially in the Dark Arts. He had mastered curses seventh years had barely grasped, and had an unrivalled knowledge of the Dark Arts themselves.

Dolohov warily approached the cast iron entranceway, observing the obscene amount of protection and banishment charms inscribed into the metal. Runes, hieroglyphs, Enochian spells, and symbols he didn't even recognise were carved deeply into the iron, emitting a harsh blue light when touched. Dolohov ran his gloved hand over the surface admiring the work of wizards of old, until he felt someone, or some_thing,_ grab his shoulder. Spinning round with wand in hand, Dolohov came face-to-face with the only free wizard in Azkaban, the keeper of keys, Cesare Claviger.

"Dolohov isn't it?" croaked Claviger, his rotten teeth protruding from his worm-like lips.

"Vat is it to you?" replied Dolohov warily, his voice drenched with a thick Russian accent.

"Cesare Claviger," began the watchman, holding out a scabbed, knobbly hand. "I'm here to escort you to your parents."

"The Dementors?" questioned Dolohov, his gloved hand gripped tightly around his wand.

"Oh, they're around," sniggered Claviger, smiling his rotten smile. "You'll bump into one soon enough. They like young blood."

Dolohov felt himself inadvertently shudder at the thought of encountering the Dementors – the true guardians of Azkaban. He thought of his parents, watching them as they were taken away by Aurors to receive their punishment - the Dementor's Kiss. The court room had been cold that day, freezing in fact, seemingly drained of all warmth, of all life. He could remember seeing the ashen sunken faces of his parents, their eyes sockets hollow, as they were restrained by chains of iron. They would never recognise him again, not now, not ever…

"Now, if you would follow me," cackled Claviger, hobbling towards the doorway.

Removing his battered wand from his cloak, Claviger drew out a series of ancient symbols on the doorway. Dolohov gazed in disbelief as the metal seemingly melted away revealing a dark entrance hall, lit by flames of emerald green.

"Your wand," wheezed Claviger, holding out his scraggly hand.

"Vat do you mean, my vand?" retorted Dolohov, his dark features darkening even further.

"Give it to me," snapped Claviger, his piggy eyes narrowing. "I can't let you enter Azkaban armed. You might try and break your parents out… and we can't have that now, can we?"

"But the Dementors?" frowned Dolohov, eyeing the watchman with contempt. "You vill send me in defenceless?"

"I'm all the defence you'll need, boy," grinned Claviger, his black eyes gleaming.

Begrudgingly, Dolohov handed the watchman his hornbeam wand, grimacing at the way Claviger ran his crusted fingers adoringly along its polished surface. The wand was Dolohov's pride and joy, crafted especially for him by Tsezar Gregorovich himself. It was an unusual wand, its core consisting of a single Banshee hair, a creature who roots were firmly buried in the Dark side. Dolohov was loath to part with it, he was most powerful with his banshee wand in hand, but he did have another gift... a rare gift that could well prove useful in this hellish prison.

"This way," beckoned Claviger, pocketing Dolohov's wand in his filthy robes.

The moment Dolohov stepped into Azkaban's entrance hall, the door behind him sealed itself back up, its banishment charms emanating a scolding red glare. Dolohov felt his eyes darting around the hall, observing the way the walls seemed to pulse, as if they were alive; this truly was hell on earth. His dark eyes finally focused on the hunched-over figure of his guide as he led the way through endless corridors and down twisting staircases. Even though he couldn't see them, Dolohov knew the Dementors were there, lurking in the shadows, waiting…

"It's so quiet," murmured Dolohov in Russian, his ears assaulted by the sound of nothingness.

"The Dementors break them quickly," cackled Claviger, his long fingernails raking gashes along the living walls.

"Вы говорите по-русски?" questioned Dolohov, his eyes narrowing.

"I speak a bit of everything," replied Claviger hoarsely, smiling to himself in the darkness.

Minutes seemed to turn into hours, as the oppressive silence grew even greater. The green lights were becoming more and more sporadic as they entered the bowels of the Azkaban fortress. Dolohov could sense Death himself gliding through the corridors underneath a veil of darkness, scythe in hand, ready and waiting for his next victim.

"Cell 819," announced Claviger, his crooked finger pointing in front of them. "Josef and Sinovia Dolohov."

Dolohov felt himself freeze from the inside out as he saw what guarded his parents' cell; two Dementors robed in pestilence, their scabrous protrusions grasping at the heavy air in front of them. He could hear their rattling breaths breaking through the unbearable silence, reverberating clearly in his mind.

"Go on then boy," snarled Claviger, his finger still pointed at the cell door. "Your parents are waiting."

"You expect me to go without my vand?" growled Dolohov, anger mixing with his internal fear.

"No wizard has ever come out of Azkaban alive," hacked Claviger, spittle dripping from the side of his mouth. "Not even visitors..."

"убийца!!" roared Dolohov, his eyes flaming with hatred. "You murdered all of them, didn't you?!"

"I won't deny the Dementors fresh meat," grinned Claviger, his eyes gleaming at Dolohov expectantly.

Antonin Dolohov felt the familiar surge of rage course through him, crashing over him like a tidal wave. He could hear the Dementors' ragged breaths grow deeper, sensing the change in atmosphere. Their hands grasped further in front of them, feeling out a way towards the surge of emotion that had flooded the corridor. Dolohov could feel his skin prickling all over as he grabbed Claviger by the throat and thrust him in front of himself. Now Claviger had a true purpose; he was the only barrier Dolohov had between the Dementors and certain death.

"You won't get out of here alive," screamed Claviger, clawing at Dolohov's unusually strong grasp.

It didn't take long for Cesare Claviger to realise that this was no ordinary grip; soon enough his cavernous nostrils were filled with the stench of searing flesh as Dolohov's grip on his neck tightened. His skin cried out in pain, as the sensation of burning overwhelmed him.

"Seeing you die vill be more than enough for me," growled Dolohov, his black eyes flaming red in the darkness.

The light was deteriorating fast; the emerald green torches had begun to die out as the Dementors advanced towards Dolohov and Claviger's stationary position, plunging the corridor in utter darkness. Antonin Dolohov could feel the adrenaline surge around his body as Claviger's screams increased, drowning out the guttural rattling of the Dementors. But it wouldn't be long now; the corridor would be silent once more...

"You devil!" screeched Claviger, his arms flailing out in front of him, in a vain attempt to fight off the Dementors' atrophied grasp.

"Just like you, I von't deny them fresh meat," snarled Dolohov hoarsely, his throat dry with anticipation at the act he was about to perform.

Plunging his hand deep into Claviger's filthy robes, Dolohov grabbed his hornbeam wand, whilst forcefully throwing Claviger's shrieking frame to the Dementors - their ghastly frames engulfing him in torturous death. Dolohov knew it wouldn't be long before they turned to feed on him, closing his scarlet-tinged eyes, he waited.

"Orior oriri ortus ex obscurum," muttered Dolohov, his lips barely moving, "suffragium mihi, o validus phasmatis! Vindicatum vestri vitualamen! INCENDO!"

The darkness was instantly shattered, as a fiery pentagram burst from the tip of Dolohov's wand, rotating steadily in front of its caster. Dolohov watched as the Dementors turned their attentions to the powerful entity before them; he smiled triumphantly, watching as they began to feed of its daemonic energy.

"Cruor pro cruor!" screamed Dolohov. "NEX SPECTO VOS!"

Dolohov watched, breathless, as the pentagram shattered, shards of blazing embers littering the ground. The sound that followed was unlike any sound he had ever heard in his life... ear-piercing shrieks assaulted his ears as the Dementors clawed at where their throats and vocal cords would be. He could hear them choking on their own greed as they paid the blood debt the spell demanded.

They clawed into their robes, into their rotted flesh, in a vain attempt to cling on to their parasitic existence, but the debt was paid... all that finally remained of them were their foul, tattered cloaks, burning with the dying light of the embers.

Antonin Dolohov held his wand cautiously out in front of him; it would only be a matter of time before others would come. The silence had once again returned, broken only by the sound of his boots crunching on the stone floor. He needed to escape this place, preferably alive, but first, he would pay _them _a long awaited visit.

"отец? мать?" called out Dolohov in his native language, whilst approaching the cell, "It's Antonin, your son. I have finally returned for you."

* * *

_Sorry chaps! Got a little carried a way there. I guess I best give you a translation for all the foreign languages, but first, did you like the chapter? Sorry if it was too long, I just couldn't stop writing. I like Dolohov – I know his powers seem a little too powerful, but hey, this is fanfic! Tell me what you think – translations below!_

"Вы говорите по-русски?" questioned Dolohov, his eyes narrowing.

"_you speak Russian?"_

"убийца!!" roared Dolohov, his eyes flaming with hatred, "You murdered them, didn't you?!"

"_murderer!!"_

"Orior oriri ortus ex obscurum," muttered Dolohov, his lips barely moving, "suffragium mihi, o validus phasmatis! vindicatum vestri vitualamen! INCENDO!"

"_Arise from the darkness; aid me, o mighty spirit! Claim your sacrifice! GO!"_

"Cruor pro cruor!" screamed Dolohov, "NEX SPECTO VOS!"

"_Blood for blood! Death awaits you!"_

"отец? мать?" called Dolohov, approaching the cell

"_Father? Mother?"_


	9. Chapter 9: So Real

_You know how I keep promising that the Lestrange Ball will come up soon? Well, I'm sorry to say, you'll all have to wait a little bit longer. This chapter deals mainly with the primary pairing, but there are some rather risqué sidetrips hehe. Many thanks to my reviewers, I'm glad you liked the Dolohov bit and the Dark Arts too; Dolohov will be making a more regular appearance in later chapters. Without further ado, here's Chapter 9 of 'Back to Black'! _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 9:.**

The cell doors were never locked in the wizard prison, Azkaban, and why should they be? The inmates were already locked up inside their own minds, insanity quickly taking hold of them. This was the state that Antonin Dolohov found his parents in; both Josef and Sinovia Dolohov sat slumped at either ends of their cavernous cell, vacantly staring at the ceiling, dribble hanging from the corners of their mouths. The Dementors Kiss had done its job well. Antonin felt his gloved fists clench in anger by his sides. His parents had been reduced to soulless, mindless golems; their once stately forms were wasted away to practically nothing, their robes encrusted with filth and feculence.

"Father," whispered Antonin, as he crouched down beside Josef's slavering form.

Josef Dolohov had once been a proud man, and to see him reduced to this? It was almost too much for Antonin to bear. He pushed back his father's black matted hair to reveal the shell of the man that lay beneath. His once piercing eyes now carried the haunted look that marked every inmate of Azkaban. Antonin felt his wand hand twitch as the realisation hit him of what he had to do. Turning to look at his mother, Sinovia, he felt his resolve strengthen even further. Her beautiful auburn hair, once long and shiny, was carelessly shorn off, caked with mud and grime.

"No more," muttered Antonin to the darkness. "No more..."

In an act of unbidden tenderness, he brought his gloved hand up to his father's face, observing the tear tracks that streaked through the grime, and wiped away the string of saliva hanging from his mouth. Standing up, he gave his parents one final glance, trying to imagine them the way they were before, but no matter how hard he tried, the past was quickly slipping away. Solemnly, he drew out his wand and uttered the words that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life...

* * *

The midday sun fought desperately to pierce through the snow clouds' thick covering, on occasion, its rays filtered through the careless gaps, cascading on Lucius' robed form. The walk to Hogwarts was indeed a pleasant one, the snow had kept the majority of the students inside, and Lucius could enjoy the company of no-one but himself and the stunned Narcissa Black. His steel-grey eyes were almost constantly fixed on his quarry, watching her soft breaths misting on the cold air. From time to time, he brushed out the rogue snowflakes that had the audacity to nestle in her golden-blonde hair – she was his, and she was perfect; not even the elements would take that away from her.

The timeless castle of Hogwarts rose into view, its turrets spiralling up to the heavens. Lucius Malfoy knew that the moment he got into the Slytherin common room, he would be greeted to a barrage of questions, no doubt from both Evan and Bellatrix. Lucius chuckled to himself, imagining the look on Rosier's face when he walked in cradling Narcissa in his arms – it was almost too good to be true. Quickening his pace, Lucius strode towards the main entrance, his heavy Quidditch boots cutting through the drifts of snow as a knife would through butter.

The Hogwarts staircases were remarkably obedient for once, as Lucius strode off the sandstone steps hassle free, before heading down the darkened corridor towards the Slytherin common room.

"Password please," announced the Jacobean guardsman; fresh splatters of blood marked his otherwise impeccable doublet as he stood to attention.

"_Alchemia Alcyone,_" replied Lucius curtly, swiftly stepping through the open portrait hole and into the darkness within.

The hallway towards the Slytherin Common Room was deserted, allowing Lucius quick, uninterrupted access to where he wanted to go. The torches that lit the corridor were already burning low – the house elves were obviously neglecting their duties as usual. Once again his eyes settled on Narcissa's petit form, the rosy blush that tinged her cheeks in the cold had disappeared, leaving her complexion fresh and clean. He wanted more than anything to hold her perfect, delicate face in his hands, whilst planting endless kisses on her flushed, rosebud lips – however, he knew that eventuality would be a long time coming.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?!" cried Rodolphus, as he watched Lucius step into the common room, his blue eyes darting between Lucius and the sleeping form that lay in his arms.

Evan Rosier raised his amber eyes in response to Rodolphus' outburst and did not, at all, like what he saw. A combination of anger and jealousy took hold of him, as he launched himself from his stationary position, his wand drawn.

"What the hell did you do to her?!" raged Evan, his face white with anger.

"Hold on, Rosier," began Rodolphus, sensing an impending conflict. "Maybe he-,"

"Maybe he what, Lestrange?!" interrupted Rosier, pushing past his fellow Slytherin. "Maybe he what?!"

"Just calm down," replied Rodolphus, placing his hand on Evan's shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" spat Evan, brushing off Rodolphus' hand as he levelled his wand at Lucius' chest.

"Look, just don't do anything stupid, okay?" warned Rodolphus, his eyes flitting between Lucius and Evan.

"No, Evan," smiled Lucius, looking down at Narcissa purposefully. "You wouldn't want to do anything stupid, would you? I've heard you have a poor aim."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" retorted Evan, his eyes angrily boring into Lucius' calm grey ones.

"Very well," sighed Lucius indifferently. "I take it you don't want an explanation of why Miss Black is stunned then?"

"Stunned?" replied Evan, his wand hand dropping in disbelief. "Who?! Who did this?"

"Who d'you think, Rosier?" drawled a cool voice, a satisfied tone lingering on every word.

Evan watched as Bellatrix appeared from behind Lucius, her dark eyes fixed plainly on Evan's anger-ridden frame. She had wrapped a dark velvet cloak about her shoulders, covering some of her modest, yet she still looked as alluring as she had early...

"If you know," countered Evan, attempting to curb his anger, "then tell me."

"Bellatrix won't know anything," drawled Lucius flatly. "She wasn't there."

"Spoil my fun," grinned Bellatrix as she walked over to Rodolphus, not showing the least bit of concern for her stunned sister.

"My guess is that it was a jealous Gryffindor," announced Lucius, gazing at Narcissa's carefree face. _Who wouldn't be jealous of this?_

"I don't believe you," scowled Evan, his eyes narrowing.

"Surely, you don't think it was me?" countered Lucius, an obstinate grimace plastered across his face.

Evan said nothing, but kept his wand tightly in his grasp. He didn't know what to think; it seemed suspicious that Lucius had come in with an unconscious Narcissa in his arms, but what motive would he have to hurt her? A crime of passion? Evan didn't know, he didn't think Lucius was capable of showing any other emotion except those of arrogance and conceit. Their confrontation had attracted quite an audience though; Slytherins from all years had gathered in the Common Room to watch Rosier and Malfoy go at it. Whispers and galleons circled around the room as debate raged about who would win... Malfoy was the favourite by a long shot.

"No, he doesn't think it was you," replied Rodolphus, standing in between Evan and Lucius. "Do you, Rosier?"

"I don't know what to believe, but I don't believe it was a jealous Gryffindor," snarled Evan, his glare still unwavering. "Just how stupid do you think I am?!"

"Stupid enough to let your girlfriend get stunned," retorted Lucius venomously. "You really should take better care of your property, Rosier, or someone else will do it for you."

"That someone being you, Malfoy?" countered Evan, finding it hard to suppress a slight chuckle. "Don't flatter yourself. You mean nothing to her."

"As you say," sighed Lucius, not deigning to correct Evan's error of judgement. "I'm sure when Miss Black comes around, she'll tell you the culprit, until then..."

"Until then," interrupted Rodolphus, still remaining in no man's land, "the blame lies on no-one, right?"

"Yeah... right," muttered Evan, his eyes refusing to leave the calm countenance of Lucius Malfoy.

"Very well then," smiled Lucius smugly. "Now if you would be so kind?"

Evan took the initiative straight away and gathered up Narcissa's stunned form in his arms. He watched Lucius' eyes lingering on Narcissa's peaceful visage; the sight unsettled Rosier and he felt himself drawing Narcissa closer towards him, protecting her from Lucius' penetrating gaze. Swiftly, he left the common room, his eyes darting over his shoulder at Lucius' frosty glare, as carried Narcissa's sleeping form up to her dormitory.

Lucius' arms felt surprisingly empty without Narcissa's figure nestled in them, he felt them crying out to feel her body in their grasp once again. Suppressing his physical urge, he felt his eyes dart around the crowded common room, observing the ogling spectators.

"Haven't you all got other stuff to be getting on with?" sighed Lucius in his prefect tone, whilst crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't make me start docking points from you all."

With his words, the crowds dispersed, obviously disappointed with the lack of curses flying about the Slytherin common room. Lucius departed also, his hovering broomstick following him towards the broom lockup, wary eyes regarding his commanding presence. Most of them knew that their Quidditch captain wouldn't involve himself in a brawl without good reason - to him, Rosier was small fry.

"Didn't realise peacekeeping was your thing, Lestrange," sneered Bellatrix, as she pushed past him, disappointed at the lack of a fight.

"Wha-?" started Rodolphus, his mind a blur. Two slights in one day? He was not going to put up with this.

Grabbing Bellatrix by the top of her arm, he spun her around forcefully so she was, once again, facing him.

"Get off me!" snapped Bellatrix, pushing him away from her.

"What's wrong with you?" shouted Rodolphus, gripping her shoulders tightly.

"What's wrong with **you**?!" retorted Bellatrix, her dark eyes glaring at him. "Acting like a bloody Gryffindor?!"

"What did you say?" snarled Rodolphus, his blue eyes darkening with anger.

"You know what I said!" spat Bellatrix, her mouth drawn up into a vicious pout. "You're so weak."

"Weak?" growled Rodolphus, his temper flaring at Bellatrix's slight on his pride. "No one calls a Lestrange weak."

"You. Are. Weak," reaffirmed Bellatrix maliciously, her eyes dancing with spite, "not like Rosier or Malfoy."

"Oh, not like Rosier and Malfoy?" whispered Rodolphus dangerously, his hands tightening their grip on the top of her arms. "We'll see about that."

"They act like real Slytherins," countered Bellatrix, gritting her teeth, whilst maintaining unwavering eye contact. "Merlin, even Rookwood's a better Slytherin then you!"

"Shut up!" spat Rodolphus angrily, his temper boiling over.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" snarled Bellatrix, forcefully breaking his iron grip on her arms.

"Whatever," retorted Rodolphus angrily, turning his back on her as he walked out of the Common Room.

"Don't walk away from me!" yelled Bellatrix, her curvaceous figure shaking with sheer rage. "DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!!"

Rodolphus felt himself stop in his tracks, and turn to see his girlfriend's cloaked form, trembling with anger. He just couldn't understand why she had to push him so far; by pushing him over the edge, she was pushing him further away. Maybe that's what she wanted? Rodolphus found that hard to believe as he walked back towards her, watching her hands clench into balls of defiance. There was something innately vulnerable about the angry Bellatrix that stood in front of him – he had never seen her this way before.

"Hey," began Rodolphus gently, allowing some of his anger to ebb away, whilst reaching out for her.

"Don't touch me!" screamed Bellatrix, slapping his hand away.

He knew words wouldn't reach her now; slowly he approached her once more, only to be rebuffed once again. Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders pulling her towards him, feeling her clenched fists pound against his chest, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Let go of me!" she screamed into his chest, her fists continuing their onslaught. "Get off! You're a joke! You're nothing!"

Releasing her from his arms, she backed away from him, glaring at him with angry tears in her eyes. Rodolphus wanted more than anything to just take her in his arms again and kiss her, letting go of all his anger and pent-up rage. He felt that she wanted the same thing too...

"Come here," whispered Rodolphus, his eyes focused on her aristocratic face.

"Why?" retorted Bellatrix, withdrawing from him further, her eyes still fixed on him angrily.

"Just do it," he replied demandingly, a grin toying with the corners of his mouth.

"What if I don't?" she questioned, her eyebrow arched.

"Then I guess it just shows how weak you are," replied Rodolphus coolly, turning the cruel insult back on its owner.

"Touché," she whispered, her anger partially subsiding in answer to his retort, "Touché."

The next scenes were inevitable; Rodolphus grabbed Bellatrix's wrist pulling her towards him, straight into a frenzied embrace. Their lips locked together furiously, passionately, brutally. Rodolphus could feel her fingernails raking his back through his robes; his own hand had begun moving its way deftly up the slit in her skirt. He could feel the anger behind her kiss, the way her teeth occasionally bit into his lip, and the sheer force of her lips against his own. He wanted her, and he had feeling that she wanted him back just as much.

The force of their embrace had taken them from the common room to one of the guest dormitories that lay off of the corridor. Rodolphus could feel her fingers expertly unbutton the shirt that lay underneath his robe, while his own undid the clasp of her cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor. There was a renewed urgency in their embrace, as Rodolphus forced Bellatrix up against the dormitory door, pinning her between his strong arms. Her breathing was ragged and heavy; he could feel its laboured warmth on his exposed torso as his shirt fell silently to the ground. Pressing his swollen lips fervently against hers, their kiss was resumed once again.

All the anger Bellatrix had felt over the past few days was concentrated on this one act of violent passion. She needed a release and Rodolphus was there to offer her one. She could feel the rage behind his kiss and it stirred something deep inside of her; running her hands across his toned abdomen, she reached up to his shoulders and forcefully shoved him back on to the awaiting bed. Slowly, she undid the zip of her pencil skirt, shimmying out of it, until it dropped to the floor.

"Bella," whispered Rodolphus, his eyes drinking in the sight of her naked flesh.

"Shut up, Lestrange," demanded Bellatrix, as she crawled along the bed towards him.

Straddling him, Bellatrix leant over, her dark hair obscuring his vision. Rodolphus could feel her warm breath on his face, as she whispered the last coherent words either of them would hear, or utter, for a considerable time.

"Now we'll see who's weak."

Rodolphus laughed, his fingers entwined in her hair.

"No, now we'll see who's easy."

* * *

It was no use. No matter how much Lucius tried to answer his History of Magic essay, nothing would come. He stared down at his blank piece of parchment, semi-hoping that the words would just magically appear before him. Replacing his eagle quill into its ink pot, he resignedly stared out of his window. For some reason, he just couldn't get Narcissa Black out of his head – the walk back to Hogwarts had endeared her to him more than he would ever admit; just being able to look at her without getting a clever retort in the process was more than enough. Handing her over to Evan though had probably been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do in his life; it felt like he was handing his most prized possession over to a complete stranger._ Malfoy, you soppy git... get over it._

In a vain attempt to concentrate on his academic studies once more, Lucius uttered his History of Magic question over and over again in his head:_ To what extent was the Vampire Class Revolution of 1890 a deciding factor in the downfall of political values in Transylvania._ Nope, no use... his inspiration had deserted him in favour of a beautiful, blonde haired ice queen. Looking down at the parchment in dismay, it suddenly hit him that it might be able to serve some quasi-useful purpose after all. Rummaging through his desk drawers, he eventually found what he was looking for: a worn down, black stick of charcoal. Setting charcoal to parchment, he etched out the image that would, hopefully, end both his writers block and the torment that nestled deep in his mind.

* * *

Evan knew that he wouldn't be able to enter the girl's dormitory, even though Narcissa was with him; it looked like his only option was to take her to his dormitory and pray that no one else was around. He didn't want the endless barrage of lewd questions that he knew would be fired at him, regarding the presence of the unconscious girl draped in his arms. Sighing, he tried to quell the anger that still boiled beneath his surface – holding Narcissa in his arms seemed to be the necessary suppressant, but then the thought that, only moments ago, she was in the arms of Lucius Malfoy bit back hard. Closing his eyes, he tried to channel this anger into a more palatable emotion._ Easier said then done._

Kicking open the door of the fifth year dormitory, he lay Narcissa down gently on his bed. Her form was immobile, yet still so supple – she appeared in a more dreamlike state rather than a stunned one. Pointing his wand at her lithe frame, he uttered the words that would allow her to answer his questions.

"Ennervate," muttered Evan, his holly wand emitting a soothing blue light from the end.

Narcissa felt a weight lift from her body, as her cobalt blue eyes fluttered open slowly. Where was she? All she could remember was pointing her wand at Lucius Malfoy and then...

"...you are... nothing but talk," muttered Narcissa incoherently. Her eyes lulling open and shut, as she attempted to register what was going on.

"Narcissa?" whispered a concerned voice. _Lucius? No... _

"Evan?" mumbled Narcissa, her eyes focusing on the figure perched on the edge of the bed.

"Hey there," smiled Evan, his hand stroking the side of her face. "You alright?"

"Where? Where am I?" sighed Narcissa, fighting the urge to fall asleep.

"You're in my dorm," replied Evan. "It looks like you were stunned."

_Stunned?_ Narcissa felt the word wash over her – then the realisation hit her of who it was that had stunned her. _Lucius!_ She had to restrain herself from blurting out his name in both surprise and anger. Narcissa knew that if Evan found out it was Lucius who had stunned her, there would be hell to pay.

"Stunned?" questioned Narcissa, pushing herself up until she was in a sitting position. "But, how did I get back here?"

She watched Evan's fathomless amber eyes momentarily break away from her own, and then return, filled with an unspoken anger.

"Lucius," he grimaced, the name causing him obvious discomfort. "He got you back."

"Oh," replied Narcissa, feigning disgust. "I see."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Cissa," began Evan, an evident remorse detectable in his voice.

"Ssshh," she whispered, placing a finger to his lips. "You're here now, right?"

Narcissa watched as a relieved smile broke across Evan's face. The anger from his eyes melted away revealing the unadulterated warmth beneath. She felt herself force a smile in response to his, but she knew, deep down, that it was a lie. Her mind was concerned with other things... Had Lucius really carried her back? Well, it was the least he could have done for stunning her. However, she felt her anger at his foul play subside, as the thought of being held in his arms washed over her. It was then that Narcissa felt the feigned smile on her face transform into one of truth and realisation.

"Cissa," began Evan, moving closer to her on the bed. "Do you have any idea who did this to you?"

"I ...really... don't know," lied Narcissa, her smile fading as she looked into Evan's eyes.

"Was there anyone else around?" continued Evan, taking her delicate hand in his own.

"I can't remember," murmured Narcissa, wishing for his questioning to cease. "Can we talk about this later? I'm really rather tired."

Evan smiled in a vain attempt to suppress the dejected look that threatened to cloud his face. It was only natural for her to want to sleep, why couldn't he accept that? Sighing, he nodded gently, stroking her hand with his own.

"Sure," replied Evan. "You want me to walk you to your dorm?"

"I should be fine," smiled Narcissa mildly.

"Right," muttered Evan, his face growing overcast and troubled.

"Hey," whispered Narcissa, as she placed her hand on his cheek, "I'll see you tomorrow okay?"

"I know," replied Evan, placing his hand over hers.

Smiling, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek as she departed from his dormitory, her head swimming with a deluge of thoughts and emotions.

* * *

Lucius looked at his finished etching, observing the way the portrait stared back at him with dark, piercing eyes. No picture would ever be able to do her beauty justice, but he thought that his attempt came pretty close. He ran his finger carelessly along her charcoal lips, tracing their contour over and over again. By drawing this portrait, he had hoped to purge the writers block from his mind, but it had only helped in cementing it even further. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Lucius stood up from his desk, hoping that the library might offer him some guidance on attacking the revolutionary vamps; as he turned towards the door, he heard the sound of a wooden object clattering to the stone floor. His eyes flicked to the ground, observing the rosewood wand that lay there, rocking from side to side in response to its fall.

Stooping down, Lucius picked the wand up from the floor, a smiling toying at the corners of his mouth. He was sure Narcissa would soon enough realise that her wand was missing and, as much as he'd like to see the petulant look on her face as she searched for it, he couldn't stop himself from heading out the door to return the wand personally.

* * *

She didn't know why, but for some reason the staircase leading up to the girl's dormitories was always in a state of perpetual darkness nowadays. The torches that lit the way were sporadic at best and had, for some reason or another, burnt out. The blame obviously lay with the house elves who had become noticeably more complacent with the appointment of Hogwarts' new headmaster – Albus Dumbledore. Sighing tiredly, she subconsciously reached into her cloak, idly feeling for her wand... but there was nothing there. She felt herself let out a surprised gasp, as the realisation hit her. _Where is it?_

"Missing something, Miss Black?" drawled a cool voice from behind her.

Narcissa knew whose voice it was, what surprised her was, that when she turned around, Lucius Malfoy was standing there holding her rosewood wand in his hands.

"My wand," she replied, her eyes fixed on his. She could feel her cheeks burning, whether from the sight of him or not, she didn't know.

"It appears you are in luck," smiled Lucius coyly, holding the wand out in front of him.

Slowly, she went to take the wand from him, but he pulled his hand away, tutting.

"Now, now," he began, a condescending tone detectable in his voice, "where are your manners?"

"Where are yours?!" she scowled, recalling the fact that he had stunned her only hours ago. "Your behaviour early was hardly an exemplar of good manners!"

"I did what was in my power to calm the situation," replied Lucius, savouring the look of disbelief that spread across Narcissa's face.

"Calming the situation?!" exclaimed Narcissa, her head pounding relentlessly. "I cannot believe I am hearing this!"

"Why else do you think I stunned you?" countered Lucius, taking a few steps towards her.

Narcissa felt her mouth open to shoot back a response, but no words came out. She stood mute, numb, feeling her head swimming once again. Lucius' outline seemed to double in front of her as her eyes began to glaze over. She fought to keep her balance, but the pull of gravity was just too strong... the sense of falling overwhelmed her.

Lucius watched as a wave of disorientation crashed over the silent Narcissa forcing her towards him. He caught her in his arms mid stumble, holding her feverish body in his arms. He knew that this disorientation was not due to the stunner from earlier; her whole body radiated a violent temperature.

"I-I'm alright," muttered Narcissa boldly, pulling back from his grasp.

"You are clearly not alright," replied Lucius, surveying her fever-tinged features.

"I'm tired," started Narcissa, her eyes lulling open and shut. "Just... give me my wand back. Give it back."

"Your wand can wait," sighed Lucius, amazed that she could be thinking about such a trivial matter.

Narcissa didn't know what had come over her; her vision was going haywire, and her skin felt as if it were on fire. The only thing that reassured her was Lucius' gentle, yet firm grip on the tops of her arms. _No..._ She didn't need his help, she was a Black, she would be fine, but no matter how much she repeated this mantra to herself, her body cried out for support. Something told her that, somehow, Lucius sensed her physical need in spite of her pride, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer towards him.

The immensity of the heat that emanated off her body as he held her in his arms was beyond belief._ Some ice queen now, eh?_ Lucius could feel her own arms lying rigid at her sides in one last defiant attempt to satisfy her dominating pride. He didn't care though; she could keep her Black pride, what mattered to him was that she was where she was supposed to be... encircled in his arms.

* * *

_I tried my best with the romance – on both Bellatrix and Narcissa fronts lol. I hope you all enjoyed it. In answer to a few questions from my reviewers: Snape and Sirius do not appear at Hogwarts until Lucius is in 7th year (he is in 6th atm), and Regulus Black won't appeal until after Lucius has left Hogwarts – remember Regulus** is younger **than Sirius. Anyway, review me and tell me what you think. Chapter 10 will be started sometime next week, hopefully..._


	10. Chapter 10: One Of The Broken

_Sorry this has taken so long chaps. I have had THE worst essay ever to write, but I managed to finish it so I've had time to finish this chappie. I hope you all like it. I've enjoyed writing it in between pulling my hair out over stupid literature essays grumble Once again, me would like to thank my fantastic, faithful reviewers. Thank you! _[Characters Copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

_EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that some of my Russian is a little 'off' so I've incoporated my reviewers advice and changed a few words._

**.:Chapter 10:.**

"Ah, Mr Dolohov," spoke a clear, friendly voice. "Come in, please."

Antonin Dolohov entered the Headmaster's office, not knowing what or whom to expect. Something told him it wasn't going to be like Ivanovich's office at Durmstrang with Dark Arts paraphernalia peeping from every nook and cranny, previous Slavic headmasters leering down from the granite walls, and numerous dark creatures that had undergone taxidermy. The one thing that always amazed Dolohov about Ivanovich's office was the immense aquatic tank that rose like a column from the middle of the room. It housed one of the rarest, most deadly snakes known to wizard-kind – the three-headed runespoor. Vlad Ivanovich's runespoor was one of the few to have all three heads intact and Dolohov always got the feeling that there was more to the snake than met the eye. However, there was no such serpent in Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

"Please, take a seat," smiled Dumbledore, his blue eyes examining his new student over his half-moon glasses.

Dolohov obliged him, his eyes darting around the office, shocked at how light and tidy it all looked. Rays of morning sunlight filtered into the office, waking the snoozing pictures on the sandstone walls. Instead of a runespoor, there was a phoenix, and instead of Dark Arts objects, there were delicate silver instruments and what looked to be a pensieve. It took awhile before Dolohov's tar-black eyes settled on his new headmaster. They lingered there taking in the white hair flecked with auburn, the long beard and cheerful purple robes; he was nothing at all like Ivanovich. He didn't look to be of a pureblood background, but something about his eyes showed a stern determination that put Dolohov on edge.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," continued Dumbledore, his sparkling blue eyes never leaving Dolohov's. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Dolohov curtly, his eyes once again distracted, but this time by two familiar faces that lay on Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore watched the young man's face harden as he glanced at the picture of Josef and Sinovia Dolohov. They had been found murdered alongside Cesare Claviger, keeper of keys, in the wizard prison, Azkaban. The two Dementors that guarded their cell were nowhere to be found, all that remained were charred cloaks ground into the floor. It would have taken a wizard of considerable talent and bravery to commit this act and make it out alive...

"I am truly sorry for your loss," started Dumbledore, his voice barely a whisper.

"They are in a better place," replied Dolohov coldly, his eyes never leaving the newspaper on Dumbledore's claw-footed desk.

There was something akin to satisfaction that lingered in the depths of Dolohov's eyes as he read the _Daily Prophet's_ headline:**'Good Riddance: Dolohov pair found murdered in Azkaban cell.'** It wasn't murder though... or was it? Maybe it really did go beyond euthanasia; maybe it really did brush the elusive fringes of murder? Dolohov would forever ask those questions over and over again; for every muggle he would kill, for every wizard he would torture, those questions would always remain.

Dumbledore eyed his new student thoughtfully, catching glimpses of cold emotion fluttering over his surly countenance. He was now under Lestrange guardianship, it had been his parents wish if anything should ever happen to them – this also meant that he would be under Hogwarts tutelage. Dumbledore could see just by looking at him that Dolohov was a student whose unbending ambition would be his undoing. It pained him to know that this misguided young man would become one of the most formidable wizards of his age; he had proven that much already…

"Your guardians implore me to place you in Slytherin," spoke Dumbledore, after what seemed like moments of tense silence. "Of course, the choice is yours."

"I vould rather be in Slytherin," replied Dolohov, returning his eyes to those of his new Headmaster. "Vill I be needing the hat?"

"Mark my words, you're a Slytherin if I ever did see one," came the grumbled reply.

Dolohov's eyes glanced to the tatty, battered old hat, resting on an equally battered old stool. There was a tear along its brim that had grotesquely formed into the shape of a mouth. Antonin had heard tales from his penfriends about the obscure history of Hogwarts' Sorting Hat – there was nothing of such nonsense at the Durmstrang Institute.

"Well, there is your answer, Antonin," smiled Dumbledore genially. "Slytherin it is."

* * *

The bedsheets felt surprisingly cool against her warm skin. She could feel the fever still raging through her body, but it had thankfully begun to subside. Raising a shaky hand to her forehead, she wiped away the sheen of sweat that clung to her pale brow. Narcissa felt as if she had been asleep for days – that wouldn't have been far from the truth. She had been asleep for well over eighteen hours, except it wasn't normal sleep. It was feverish, fitful - broken dreams colliding with incorporeal hallucinations; a faceless figure placing a cool cloth over her brow, watching her, defying her pride... Her memory was hazy, but she had a good idea as to who the faceless figure was.

The chill morning breeze offered a welcome respite to the parched air that filled the dormitory. Inhaling deeply, Narcissa caught the delicate scent of winter mingling with the fresh gust of air. It was a scent she knew well, one of her favourites in fact; opening her impossible blue eyes, she was greeted with the sight of a dozen winter roses adorning her bedside table. Narcissa felt herself smile as she saw something else; lying next to the vase of icy blue winter roses was her rosewood wand. She wanted to reach out, to touch the winter blooms, to make sure they weren't one of the many hallucinations that had haunted her troubled sleep, but her body could not comply.

_You're so weak..._

_Look at you lying there..._

Narcissa felt so wretchedly feeble and so utterly helpless; once again she had relied on him... Lucius Malfoy. Her mind raged silently, thinking of what her father would say if he knew she had accepted help from a Malfoy – no doubt Bellatrix would go to the trouble of informing him. _Bellatrix..._ She had thought on her sister a lot, her taunting face passing in and out of the nightmarish illusions the fever created for her.

Bellatrix knew. She knew too much, and her silence would come at a cost, a cost too great for Narcissa to endure. She needed to get to Evan before Bellatrix did, needed to stop her, needed to tell him it was over, needed to...

Narcissa felt her body succumb to the waning control of the fever dream, her mind wandering aimlessly in and out of the confines of reality.

_She could feel his strong arms pulling her closer to him as she stood on the verge of collapse. His words of concern had touched something deep inside her, something that had begun to bypass her ever-controlling pride._

"_Professor Eltanin must be made aware of this," began Lucius, his tone commanding._

"_N-no," mumbled Narcissa, once again pulling back from his arms. "I'm fine."_

_Lucius studied her flushed face, her drained lips and her listless eyes – it looked like he would have to take matters into his own hands. Before she knew it, Narcissa had been whisked up into his arms, her shivering form, once again, cradled against him. _

"_Put me down," protested Narcissa, attempting to muster as much defiance as possible. "I ...demand you... put me d-down."_

"_Believe me," sighed Lucius, "I do not relish the thought of having to carry you up three flights of stairs, but it seems I have no choice."_

"_I c-can't let you," mumbled Narcissa, her heart racing. "Blacks... don't need-,"_

"_Enough with your Black pride!" retorted Lucius, his cold-steel eyes silencing her. "It means nothing to me!"_

_Narcissa was taken aback by his sudden outburst, her glazed eyes widening in disbelief. Black pride meant nothing to him, and why should it? He could never, and would never, understand how much it meant to her – it was her driving force, the one thing she had left to cling on to when all else failed. But where was her pride now? Where was it when she needed it the most? Even her pride couldn't stop her from drowning in the feelings of insufferable helplessness and stifling loneliness..._

_She felt the words, the words her pride had desperately tried to thwart, escape from her mouth before she had a chance to silence them..._

"_Thank... you," she whispered, her delicate hand reaching to touch the side of his face._

_He said nothing, but his silence spoke more than any words could. What passed between them in the silence that followed was a mutual acceptance, an acceptance of her need for him, and his ability to sate it._

* * *

It had been hard leaving her bedside – he could admit to that, but anything else he would blatantly deny. Lucius Malfoy had never been one to express his emotions and desires, especially when they involved _certain _people. To his Slytherin peers, he was the cold paradigm of arrogance and pride, a being completely devoid and incapable of showing any real emotion. Part of him had to agreed with them, it was easier that way – if he revealed his emotions, it showed weakness and weakness did not factor into who or what he was. He was abruptly shaken from his thoughts by a series of measured knocks on his door...

"Yes?" asked Lucius, his head partially turned to face the door.

"It's Evan," came the muffled reply.

"Come in," sighed Lucius, his patience already wearing thin.

Lucius watched the dark haired fifth year walk in, dark bags circled his hollowing, amber eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days – whether through worry or stress, Lucius didn't know, or care, for that matter. He was seriously thinking about replacing Evan Rosier for another Chaser – his insolence and lack of dedication didn't settle well with Lucius.

"What do you want?" questioned Lucius, turning his eyes back to his half written essay.

"I just want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday," replied Evan, a tired edge detectable in his voice. "I was just... worried I guess."

"Apology accepted," muttered Lucius absentmindedly, underlining his title.

"Is that all you're going to say?" retorted Evan, disgruntled by Lucius' answer.

"What do you want me to say, Rosier?" began Lucius, angrily placing his quill back in its ink point. "That you were totally irresponsible, that you are completely undeserving of her? What?"

"Undeserving?" countered Evan, his temper rising once again.

"What are you? A parrot?" snarled Lucius, standing up to face him. "Yes, Rosier, undeserving."

"I know what this is about," chuckled Evan amusedly. "You're jealous – you're jealous because she chose me over you."

"Don't be ridiculous," lied Lucius, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I'm not being ridiculous," smiled Rosier. "It must drive you insane knowing that you'll be second best for once."

"You think your childish taunts will get a rise out of me, Rosier?" challenged Lucius dangerously. "You are sadly mistaken, now get out."

"Always running from the truth, eh Malfoy?" sneered Evan, his face draining of colour.

"Don't misunderstand me, Rosier," growled Lucius, his frozen glare settling on the fiery depths of Evan's eyes. "The only reason you are still standing is out of respect."

"Respect? For someone other than yourself?" barked Evan. "I find that hard to comprehend."

"Someone of your standing wouldn't understand," replied Lucius resignedly. "Now get out... I'm sure Miss Black would prefer her... _boyfriend_ in one piece."

"Your idle threats don't wash with me, Malfoy. Never have," snarled Evan, "and they never will."

"You'd do well not to push me, Rosier," whispered Lucius calmly, his words drenched with malicious intent.

Evan could see that the heir of Malfoy was not joking – the frozen glaze that covered his grey eyes had melted away to reveal tempered steel, intent on some self-serving purpose. Backing towards the door, Evan gave him one last scowl before hastily departing, his dark robes catching on the draft.

Lucius ran an exasperated hand through his hair as he considered what Evan had said – was he really jealous? No. Malfoys had no reason to get jealous because they always got what they wanted in the end, pure and simple. He had allowed himself to develop feelings for Narcissa because she was perfect, and in the end, she would be his. No jumped up fifth year was going to interfere with that.

"Malfoy," interrupted a familiar voice.

Turning from his desk once again, he saw his fellow sixth year, Rabastan Lestrange, standing in the doorway.

"Lestrange?" sighed Lucius, tired of the constant interruptions, "Something wrong?"

"Nothing, my friend," began Rabastan, surveying Lucius over his horn-rimmed glasses. "Although I see the same can't be said for you. I just bumped into Rosier..."

"Let's just say I had to _deal_ with him," muttered Lucius, standing up. "Next time you see him, tell him he's off the team."

"I take it you have a replacement lined up?" questioned Rabastan casually.

"I hoped you might be able to help with that," started Lucius. "I hear your Durmstrang friend has come to Hogwarts."

"He's with Dumbledore," replied Rabastan, motioning with his eyes. "He'll be here anytime now. I'm sure you will grace us with your presence?"

"Of course," nodded Lucius, never passing up the opportunity to meet similar purebloods. "Does he play?"

"World-class Chaser in fact," smiled Rabastan, watching Lucius' face lighten, "but, if you don't mind me asking, why exactly did you drop Rosier?"

"Personal differences," growled Lucius through gritted teeth.

"Narcissa Black then?" retorted Rabastan, cocking his head to one side.

"That's presumptuous even by your standards, Lestrange," replied Lucius, his face darkening once again.

"Some might call it obvious," sniggered Rabastan. "The way you look at her, no wonder Rosier came to settle 'personal differences' with you."

"That'll do Lestrange," cautioned Lucius amiably.

"Very well," smiled Rabastan, pushing his square-framed glasses further up his nose. "Shall we then?"

"I'll meet you down there," began Lucius, pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail. "I have some unfinished business to settle."

* * *

_This is more like it_. Antonin Dolohov's tar-black eyes trawled around the common room taking in every small detail, from the obsidian fire place, to the dragon hide couches that gathered around it. A few first year Slytherins gave him wary glances, avoiding his dark eyes. He was used to people staring at him, whether through admiration or disgust, their looks only added to his confidence. No doubt most of them had read the _Daily Prophet_ this Sunday morning, had read about the untimely murder of his parents, and the transfer of their only son to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Dolohov, old friend," came a familiar voice.

Turning his eyes towards the clattering sound that came from the dark granite staircase, his eyes rested on his penfriend. The dark, robed figure of Rabastan Lestrange strode over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Rabastan, брат мой," replied Dolohov, slipping into his native language, whilst embracing Rabastan in a brotherly hug.

"It's good to have you with us," said Rabastan, studying his friend's drawn complexion.

"It is good to be here," nodded Dolohov, "at last."

The wandering eyes of Antonin Dolohov could not be halted for long and he found himself looking around the common room once more. It was different to the one he left behind at Durmstrang; there had always been a permanent draft that had hung around his old Common Room: the fires only being lit in the extreme cold of the Romanian winter. He was worlds away from Durmstrang now... worlds aw- but something interrupted his thoughts, a raven haired beauty strolling down the staircase, her dark eyes pointedly fixed on him.

"You must be Antonin Dolohov," she smiled, her red lips parting to reveal a row of pearly white teeth. "I'm Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black."

She held her hand out to him which he took and brought gently to his mouth. He could smell the musky scent of her perfume, as his soft lips grazed her skin.

"It is a pleasure," replied Dolohov, nodding his head to her.

"Oh no," smiled Bellatrix slyly, "the pleasure is mine."

Dolohov merely smiled in acknowledgement of her flirtatious retort. _So this is Bellatrix?_ He had heard a great many things about the wild-child of Slytherin; for one thing she was dating his penfriend's brother, Rodolphus, who he still had yet to meet. Monogamy did not feature highly on Dolohov's list of requisites – women were there for his pleasure, and for the purpose of producing an heir.

"Have you chosen your subjects?" inquired Rabastan, his eyes narrowing at Bellatrix's open flirtations.

"Yes," replied Dolohov curtly, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix. "Potions, Advanced Potions, Runes, Charms, and History of Magic."

"No Defence against the Dark Arts, eh?" sniggered Bellatrix, catching his eye once more.

"Vats the point in defending against them," replied Dolohov dangerously, "ven you can already use them?"

"Care to give us a demonstration?" smiled Bellatrix, her mind racing at the prospect of seeing true Dark Arts displayed in front of her.

"Bella, you know the rules," reprimanded Rabastan, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I've never cared for them," sighed Bellatrix. "You know that."

"Antonin, the penalty for the use of Dark Arts within Hogwarts is severe," warned Rabastan seriously. "You will suffer expulsion, and perhaps a term in Azkaban."

"Azkaban," whispered Dolohov, the word catching in his throat.

The mere mention of the wizard prison sent an unbidden chill down the Russian's spine – it wasn't fear, no, definitely not fear, but something else, something completely intangible. He could almost smell the stench of death and decay seeping from the depraved grasp of the Dementors themselves. _This is folly, weakness..._ Regaining his composure almost instantly, he nodded to Rabastan, accepting the ridiculous rules Hogwarts enforced.

"Looks like my demonstration, vill have to vait 'til next veek," began Antonin, "for that is ven the ball is, right?"

"Indeed," replied Rabastan, nodding in response.

"Its going to be so much fun," grinned Bellatrix, as she perched on the edge of one of the dragon-hide couches.

"No doubt," replied Rabastan, casting a wary eye on Bellatrix.

She was trouble – he had preached about it countless times to his younger brother, but the boy just wouldn't see sense. It was obvious that Rodolphus was blindly infatuated with Bellatrix, in his eyes she could do no wrong, but Rabastan knew otherwise. Lucius had divulged to him their 'chance' encounter in the broom lock-up, and from the way she acted around Evan, Rabastan suspected she was less faithful then she let on.

"Right," started Rabastan, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "I will show you to your dorm."

"До свидание, Bellatrix," said Dolohov, once again pressing the back of her hand to his mouth.

"I'll see you around," replied Bellatrix, casting the young Russian a satisfied smile, the wheels and cogs in her mind working over time.

* * *

"Merlin, still in bed at this time?"

Narcissa felt her eyes flutter open and closed in a desperate attempt to locate the owner of that familiarly screechy voice. A hazy blob began to come into focus at the end of her bed until it finally transformed into the podgy form of Saffron Parkinson. Narcissa felt herself sit up and give the nosey girl a wan smile.

"Aren't you going to come downstairs?" continued Saffron, oblivious to Narcissa's drained look.

"Why?" questioned Narcissa, swinging her legs from the bedcovers so they dangled over the edge of the bed.

"Haven't you heard?" exclaimed Saffron, her voice squealing and high-pitched. "A new student has transferred from Durmstrang!"

"Already?" replied Narcissa, surprised that the transfer student had arrived so soon.

"Just wait 'til you meet him!" squeaked Saffron, clutching her hands over her heart. "He's to die for!"

Narcissa merely smiled at the girl's ridiculous nature. She wished for time alone, to think properly for once without interference from the trivial rantings of Saffron Parkinson. Sighing, she brushed her tangled golden hair behind her ears and looked out of the window across the snowy grounds.

"I'll be down soon," replied Narcissa resignedly.

"Spoiled sport!" mocked Saffron, before she jumped off the end of the bed and headed towards the door, but something made her stop.

"Oh, those flowers are beautiful!" she exclaimed, her eyes fixed on the bouquet of winter roses on Narcissa's bedside table. "From Evan?"

"Something like that," lied Narcissa, desperate to be alone.

"You're so lucky," sighed Saffron, looking at the flowers with a longing stare. "Well, see you in a minute."

Narcissa watched the girl flounce out and listened to her hurried footsteps pitter-patter down the stone staircase. Hushed voices echoed down the hall, drowning out Saffron's departing footsteps. _You'd have thought they'd never seen a transfer student before. _Pushing herself up from her bed, she walked towards the open window, her hand caressing the cold pane. Resting her head against it, she felt the coldness embrace her cheek, cooling off the remains of her fever.

It was only after moments of silent contemplation that Narcissa realised she was still in her clothes from yesterday. A feeling of disgust overcame her as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. She looked haggard and paler than usual; her usually gleaming blonde hair was dull and lustreless. Her first thought was that Lucius must have seen her in this hideous state, and then she stopped herself. What did she care about what he thought? He had stunned her, he was a blatant liar, and he had, more likely than not, committed heinous acts with her sister. So, why did she care? It was the one question she just couldn't answer, no matter how hard she tried...

"You look troubled, Miss Black," drawled that oh-so familiar voice that seemed to have a nasty habit of surprising her when she least expected it.

Narcissa didn't turn from the window, she couldn't bring herself to look at him; the shame she felt was too great. If she looked at him, she would be brought under his spell once again... and besides, there was no way she would let him see her face in this state.

"Troubled?" replied Narcissa quietly. "I can't imagine what you mean."

"I see you are recovered," noted Lucius, detecting the atypical coldness in her voice.

"Yes," said Narcissa absentmindedly, watching her breath misting on the windowpane, fighting the urge to turn around and gaze upon his handsome countenance.

Lucius felt himself chuckle at the situation – why was he even here? He knew that this was the kind of response he would get from her, but he had found it hard resisting the urge to see if she was well. _Admit it Malfoy._ Shaking his head, as if to banish the thoughts that crept unwanted through his mind, he advanced towards Narcissa's bedraggled form, her eyes still fixed on the frozen grounds.

"Look at me," murmured Lucius, his hand running down her bare arm.

Narcissa could feel his warm breath tickling the back of her neck. He was so unbearable close to her that she was concerned he could hear the instantaneous quickening of her heartbeat. She wanted more than anything to turn around and wrap her arms about him, pushing her pride aside and indulging in what she had dreamed of for so long. _No, you mustn't. _Narcissa could feel his other hand gently brushing her hair over one shoulder, exposing her pale neck.

"Look at me," whispered Lucius again before softly kissing the contour of her neckline.

Narcissa felt a gasp escape from her lips as Lucius caressed the elegant arch of her neck, trailing a line of tender kisses from the base of her neck to her jawline. She wanted so badly to give in, just to give in and sate her unquenchable desire, drowning it in his kisses.

"No," muttered Narcissa, brushing his hand from her arm. "This isn't right."

"Don't tell me you've developed a conscience?" whispered Lucius, his mouth barely millimetres from her ear.

"What if I have?" retorted Narcissa, turning around. "What if I think this is wrong?"

"You would be lying," smiled Lucius, observing how beautiful she was even in her weakened state. "You need me."

"Need?" spat Narcissa, her eyes widening. "I don't need you! I don't need anyone!"

"Oh no, of course not, my mistake," sighed Lucius, rolling his eyes. "All you _need_ is that Merlin-forsaken pride of yours."

Narcissa fought to scream back a reply, but she found that she was speechless. What he had said was innately true – all she needed was her pride. She wouldn't let herself 'need' anyone, to 'need' someone was to be weak, and she refused to be weak again... yet surely, she was showing weakness now though, by feeding him ammunition to throw back at her? She wanted to prove him wrong, she wanted to prove that there was more to her than her infamous pride; by mentioning her pride, Lucius had inadvertently fuelled its need to show him that there was more to her than just her Black name. Glaring at him, her cobalt eyes aflame with defiance, she pushed her parched lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Lucius lifted Narcissa's form so she was perched on the edge of the windowsill, her legs wrapped around his own, her arms encircled around his neck. Strands of gold clung to the windowpane, as their kiss deepened further. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own, their breathing in unison. His hands ran up the length of her legs, before finally resting on the curvature of her waist. Lucius could feel her pushing against him, her legs locking tighter around his own. There was more to this than just pure defiance... lust, anger, and desire all burned together creating an explosive cocktail of frenzied emotion.

_Yay, end of Ch. 10! Wow, ten chapters – I'm really surprised I got this far! Well, hope you enjoyed reading it, as always I value people's opinion on this story, so feel free to drop me an email or give me a review. The Lestrange Ball is drawing ever near, although I bet none of you believe me anymore, seeing as I've said it so many times :D But seriously, it'll be in the next chapter and the events of the Ball will hopefully spread over two chapters. Russian translations are below:_

"Rabastan, брат мой," replied Dolohov, slipping into his native language, whilst embracing Rabastan in a brotherly hug.

_ Rabastan, my brother_

"До свидание, Bellatrix," said Dolohov, once again pressing the back of her hand to his mouth.

_ Goodbye, Bellatrix_


	11. Chapter 11: Shadowplay

_Yaaaaay! The Ball had finally arrived! This chapter doesn't really deal with the 'romantic' side of the characters (sorry), but it's very, VERY dramatic. There will be a new face popping up, so watch out for him :D I really hope you all like this chapter, as I know some of you have been waiting patiently (or not so patiently) for this Ball. So without further ado, here is Chapter 11 of 'Back to Black.' Please enjoy, and feel free to give me a review. _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 11:.**

The days that followed Antonin Dolohov's transfer to Hogwarts were adequately amusing. He enjoyed the attention lavished on him by both professors and students alike. Aside from the odd snide remark from jealous Gryffindors, Dolohov found it easy to keep his temper and dark arts under control. There was no denying the fact that the Gryffindor lot did, indeed, try his patience, but he was not ready to be expelled, not just yet. Although he was loath to admit it, Hogwarts did have its perks; the size of it alone was one of them. The dormitories were more regal and spacious then the ones Durmstrang had to offer. However, Durmstrang was much more select about the pupils it made offers to; unlike Hogwarts, it was a pureblood only institute. Students had to provide a family history dating back hundreds of years to prove that it wasn't tainted by 'dirty blood.'

It was a Friday evening, the sun burned a violent scarlet in the darkening sky as the young Russian sat, polishing his wand. The Lestrange Ball took place on the morrow, an event that dominated the pureblood social calendar. Antonin had already been victim to a string of giggling girls shyly asking him if he would like to accompany them. Of course, he turned them down flat. He couldn't stand their simpering nature, their childish mannerism, oh no, his eye was very much enamoured by the unattainable, namely Bellatrix Black. He knew that she was attracted to him, her body language went beyond obvious... yet it was too soon for him to be causing rifts between himself and Rodolphus Lestrange. A curt knock on his dormitory door shook Dolohov from his thoughts, his dark eyes breaking away from his wand.

"Yes?" he questioned, setting his wand on his bedside table.

"It's Malfoy," came the reply.

"Enter," called Dolohov, standing up to meet his visitor.

The stately form of Lucius Malfoy entered the room, his blonde hair loosely tied back from his face, his cold eyes fixed on the Russian.

"I've been meaning to talk to you for some time," started Lucius, sitting down on one of the vacant beds.

"About vat?" asked Dolohov, his dark hair pooling about his shoulders.

"Quidditch," stated Lucius plainly. "I've heard you are good."

"You flatter me," sighed Dolohov drolly, "but yes, I'm good, vat of it?"

Lucius smiled at Dolohov's self-assured nature, it reminded him very much of his own.

"We are in need of a Chaser," declared Lucius, steepling his fingers. "A good Chaser."

"Vell, Mr. Malfoy," smiled Dolohov, exposing a gleaming row of perfectly set teeth. "You are looking at the best Chaser this school has ever seen."

"Your modesty is surprising," replied Lucius sarcastically, but he had a feeling that the Russian wasn't wrong.

"It's something I pride myself on," sighed Dolohov, examining his fingernails indifferently.

"Try outs are-,"

"Try outs?" interrupted Dolohov sharply. "You vant me to _try out_? I'm not sure you quite understand Malfoy. I am THE best, I haf no need for your try outs."

Lucius' eyes narrowed, angry at the rude interruption. However, he maintained his cool composure; it was important for him to get Dolohov aboard the Quidditch team with minimal hassle and maximum haste.

"Very well," replied Lucius, rising from the bed. "Practice starts next term. I assume you have a broomstick?"

"The best," countered Dolohov, his black eyes focused intently on the blonde captain.

"Good," nodded Lucius, "because that is what I expect... the best."

"Expect no less, my friend," smiled Dolohov. "You are attending the ball tomorrow, are you not?"

"Of course," stated Lucius.

"See you there then," drawled Dolohov, showing his guest out.

Lucius merely nodded curtly before leaving the dormitory, and disappearing down the darkening corridors. Antonin knew there was more to Malfoy then met the eye... but something told him that all would be revealed soon enough. Turning to look at his banshee wand, he smiled in the knowledge that the Lestrange Ball would expose more than just Malfoy's secret, but a few secrets of his own.

* * *

It felt strange being back at home, thought Narcissa, as she opened her curtains to allow the morning sunlight to dapple through the window. Bellatrix had not said a word to her since they had arrived back home, instead she insisted on giving Narcissa sly, knowing looks as if to suggest that she could ruin all that she held dear within seconds. Cygnus Black was once again locked up in his study, barely regarding his daughters' presence.

Today was the day of the Lestrange Ball, the day of truth, the day that her lies came to an abrupt and bitter end. There was no denying the fact that the past few days had been difficult; Evan's dismissal from the Quidditch team and his growing jealousy had become almost too much for Narcissa to bear. Her own personal torment did nothing to soothe the situation either... it wasn't the frenzied embrace that tormented her, but the silent denial that accompanied it. Lucius had done everything in his power to avoid her, to hurt her, to make her feel as if she were just another one of _those _girls.

"Circe take you Malfoy," cursed Narcissa under her breath, clenching her fist against the window.

She didn't know it was possible to hurt like this inside, to feel as she did. He would pay though, he would pay tonight... She would expose him, just as Bellatrix would expose her. The whole string of unfortunate events would come to a seemingly unfortunate end.

* * *

Home wasn't something that Lucius appreciated much. His journey from Hogwarts to Wiltshire had been uncomfortable to say the least. However, the trip home was necessary, not only was there the Lestrange Ball, but some important business his father had to discuss with him. Lucius had a good idea as to what it was; no doubt it involved Dumbledore's teaching methods somewhere along the line. Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' father, was a supporter of the dark wizard, Grindelwald, the wizard who was defeated single-handedly by Albus Dumbledore. It was, therefore, understandable that Dumbledore's appointment as Headmaster at Hogwarts had caused quite a stir within the Malfoy family.

"Welcome home, sir," squeaked the ancient house elf, Poppy.

Lucius paid the house elf no heed – to him they were an unfortunate necessity, lacking the intelligence to be regarded as anything more than a mere possession. Handing his travelling cloak to the wizened elf, he strode down the portrait-lined hallway heading towards his father's study. Lucius' upbringing had been harsh, but fair; his mother, Luciana, had died in childbirth, leaving Abraxas to bring up Lucius on his own. Without a mother's tenderness, Lucius had grown cold, distant and detached from all emotion. His father moulded him into the perfect heir, intelligent, cunning and blessed with the art of blackmail.

The light from the candles cast shadows on the solid ebony doors that separated Lucius from his aging father. Removing his dragonskin glove, Lucius rapped on the door, the measured knocks echoing down the length of the corridor.

"Enter," barked a rasping voice from within.

Compliant with the speaker's wishes, Lucius pushed open the heavy doors to reveal the room that lay within. Abraxas Malfoy's study never ceased to impress Lucius._ One day it will be mine._ The walls were dark green in colour, although most of the wall space was taken up with huge portraits and towering bookshelves, bursting with ancient tomes and documents.

"You are late," stated the seemingly incorporeal voice.

"The journey was less than satisfactory," replied Lucius curtly.

His reply was met with nothingness. His father was not one to waste time talking about trivialities, a trait that naturally passed down to his son. A silence passed between the two, not one of an uncomfortable nature, but one of understanding. Lucius stepped further into the study, greeted by the occasional nod from one of his framed ancestors, heading towards the tall-backed armchair that faced towards the dying firelight. The one part of his father he could glimpse was the long tapered fingers of his right hand, drumming a perfect rhythm on the armrest.

"Sit," declared Abraxas, his slender hand gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Obliging his wish, Lucius sat down opposite his father, studying the stern features that lay fixed on the dying embers. It was widely acknowledged that Lucius' had inherited more than just his father's aloofness; he had inherited his looks too. Both were blonde with the same haunting grey-blue eyes, their face shape angular, with cheekbones like cut glass. Hardly any of his mother's traits had passed down to her handsome son, aside from the nobility of her family connections.

"We have business to discuss," started his father, his eyes never leaving the fire. "Important business."

* * *

Tonight was going to be the worst night known to wizard-kind, mused a dark-haired youth as he lay sprawled out on his bed. His handsome face was obscured by locks of midnight black; the usual laughter in his dark eyes had disappeared and was replaced by glazed disinterest. Sirius Black was fed up. Fed up with being a Black and fed up with having to attend these ridiculous balls. His younger brother, Regulus, however, was desperate to attend such a prestigious event, but being only seven years old was deemed too young. The responsibility of attending these pureblood gatherings, therefore, fell on the eldest Black.

"Master," screeched a dreadfully familiar voice. "You is creasing your dress robes!"

"Shut up, Kreacher," scowled Sirius, rolling on to his side, making sure more creases appeared in his robes.

"Mistress is not going to be happy," reprimanded Kreacher, waggling his bony finger at Sirius. "If only you were more like Master Regulus."

"What? An insufferable suck-up? No thanks," growled Sirius. "I'll take my chances being myself."

"Wait until Mistress hears of your despicable behaviour!" warned Kreacher before scurrying out of the door.

"Huh," muttered Sirius, rolling on to his back. "See if I care."

He couldn't believe he had to wait another nine months until he was at Hogwarts. All he wanted was to get out of Grimmauld Place and to get as far away from his fanatical family as possible. Sirius hoped the months would pass quickly, but with events like the Lestrange Ball to contend with, he knew that his hopes were no more than wishful thinking.

* * *

Smoothing the creases from her midnight blue gown, Narcissa turned to look at herself in her full length mirror. Her golden locks were curled into soft ringlets that tousled about her shoulders and cascaded down her back. Moonstones shimmered throughout the length of hair, nestled within the stream of blonde. The bodice of her dress was embroidered with silver, a tangle of winter roses silhouetted on a background of night. Narcissa loved the way her gown moved with her; she hadn't opted for a puffy dress, but a streamline cut, a gown that fishtailed out at the bottom yet flatteringly clung to her delicate curves. All she needed was to add some final touches and she would be ready.

Slipping her delicate hands into her full-length black satin gloves, she sighed realising the gravity of the situation she was in.

"Mistress' carriage is here," squeaked Tippy, the timid house elf.

"Good," replied Narcissa, grabbing her clutch bag and heading for the door.

Narcissa turned once more to look at herself, her eye catching the only picture she had of her deceased mother. Druella wasn't smiling, she rarely ever did, but she looked at Narcissa with a knowing look, a look that inspired her daughter with bold confidence.

"Thank you," whispered Narcissa softly to her mother, her gloved hand stroking the picture. "I won't let you down, not again."

With her parting words, Narcissa Black wrapped her velvet cloak about her shoulders, and gracefully departed, the delicate pattering of her steps breaking the silence that clung to the hollow shell of her home.

* * *

The Lestrange Ball was extravagant to say the least; purebloods of all nationalities and rank chattered away, sipping priceless champagne from equally priceless silver goblets studded with precious gemstones. Banners of all the pureblood coats-of-arms hung from the walls in a style reminiscent of the house colours at Hogwarts. The two Lestrange brothers were nowhere to be seen, much to a certain Black's delight... it would seem their foreign penfriend would have to do.

"Oh, Antonin," giggled Bellatrix slyly. "You slay me!"

"Slay you?" gasped Dolohov sarcastically, his tar-black eyes glittering. "I should hope not."

Antonin could feel Bellatrix's hand resting on his knee, her dark eyes fixed on his own, trying to work out the mystery that lay behind his lying eyes. She would find no answers there, thought Dolohov, no one would. The cool night air rustled through the cavernous marquee where the two Slytherins sat, slouched on a reclining couch; it was surprising how deserted the marquee was, aside from a few drunken fools, they were the only ones there... or so they thought.

"So tell me more about yourself," whispered Bellatrix, resting her head on her hand.

"What do you vant to know?" replied Dolohov, brushing her dark hair behind her shoulder.

"The worst thing you've ever done," smiled Bellatrix deviously.

"You really vant to know?" grinned Dolohov, toying with her curiosity.

"Yes," replied Bellatrix, rolling her eyes, "otherwise I wouldn't have asked."

"I don't know if you could handle it," whispered Dolohov teasingly, tracing the length of Bellatrix's bare arm.

"Try me," challenged Bellatrix, her hand moving further up Antonin's leg.

"It'll come at a price," teased Dolohov further.

"What kind of price?" asked Bellatrix, having a good idea as to what this 'price' might be.

Chuckling at her predictable reply, Dolohov stood up and walked towards the open entrance of the marquee. Acres of LeStrange land rolled out in front of him, dark shadows set against the dark sky. The darkness reminded him of home, of Russia... but also of Azkaban. Did he want to tell her the worst thing he had done? Perhaps she could guess? That would be fun...

"Gone all silent on me, Dolohov?" smirked Bellatrix, rising from the couch. "I hope not."

Turning back towards his devilishly attractive companion, Dolohov merely smiled before placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. Her red lips were slightly parted enticing him; the deliberate rise and fall of her chest left him with no choice, as he forcefully pulled her into a violent embrace. Dolohov could feel her nailed hands running through his long dark hair, pushing her lips firmly against his own. He could taste, feel and hear her desire as she pushed him into the corner of the marquee.

"You still vant to know the vorst thing I've done?" murmured Dolohov, his voice raspy in her ear.

"Yes," whispered Bellatrix, her hands creeping underneath his dress-robes.

"I can't tell you," teased Dolohov, his swollen lips taking their fill once again.

"What?" gasped Bellatrix, her hands finding the taut abdomen that lay concealed beneath the heavy robes.

"But I can show you," replied Dolohov, his fathomless eyes glinting with the subtlest hint of scarlet.

* * *

There was no sign of Lucius anywhere as Evan Rosier's amber eyes scanned the elaborately decorated ballroom. He could feel the delicate arm of Narcissa Black linked around his own, but for once he couldn't care less. His expulsion from the Quidditch team and Narcissa's recently detached nature had done little to endear her to him. Evan didn't know why, but part of him blamed her for his dismissal from the team – that and the fact that Lucius had obvious intentions towards her, intentions that she seemed just a little _too _oblivious to.

Narcissa knew he was distracted, he had been for days. Perhaps this would make the situation easier, she thought…_e__asier on him, easier on me_. Evan was not the only one on the look out for Lucius; Narcissa could feel her eyes unwittingly searching the room, waiting for a flash of blonde to cross her path.

"A drink?" asked Evan, turning to look at his partner for the first time this evening.

"Thank you," nodded Narcissa, her eyes looking to the floor.

"I'll be right back," muttered Evan, walking straight into a dark haired youth who stood bored in the centre of the room.

"Hey, watch it!" cried the youth, his eyes fixed on Evan's vacant expression.

"Excuse me?" challenged Evan, grabbing the youth by the lapels of his robe.

"I said watch it," repeated the youth, his dark eyes burning with insolence.

"Who are you to tell a Rosier to watch it, eh?" scowled Evan, his eyes narrowing at the youngster's defiance.

"A Black," came the calm reply.

Both Evan and the youth turned to see the delicate frame of Narcissa Black, regarding them with disdain. She barely paid any heed to the younger boy, her eyes fixed pointedly on Evan.

"This is Sirius Black," continued Narcissa coolly. "My cousin."

The last part of sentence was uttered with saccharine contempt, as she finally looked her cousin up and down. For once he had scrubbed up well and had _finally _taken his rightful place amongst wizards of his own kind.

"Your cousin?" came Evan's surprised reply. "I see."

"Yeah, so would you mind taking your lesser hands off me?" growled Sirius, annoyed that he had to resort to rank.

"Whatever," muttered Evan, releasing Sirius before stalking off into the crowds.

"Your boyfriend?" snarled Sirius, finally showing his dislike for his elder cousin.

"What's it to you?" replied Narcissa, her cerulean eyes narrowing.

"Thought Blacks didn't settle for 'lesser' types," mocked Sirius, poking fun at his ridiculous family.

"Hypocrite, aren't we?" sighed Narcissa, noticing his triumphant smile dropping. "Oh yes, I've heard of your mudblood escapades."

"Better than this crap," scowled Sirius, his dark eyes regarding the room in disgust. "I hate this, just as I hate being a Black."

"I always knew you'd turn out just like _her_," sneered Narcissa. "Another bloodtraitor, another failure."

"Better a bloodtraitor than this," barked Sirius, turning his back on his cousin and disappearing into the throng.

"I wouldn't be so sure," smiled Narcissa, catching a sudden glimpse of the fate that awaited her younger cousin.

"So sure of what?" whispered a cool voice, inches away from her ear.

She felt herself begin to turn around.

"No, don't turn around," warned the voice, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck.

"Why shouldn't I?" smiled Narcissa, waving politely to one of her father's acquaintances.

"I want you to come with me," continued the voice, seemingly oblivious to her comment.

"Why should I?" asked Narcissa, not ready to be drawn into another fiasco with Lucius Malfoy.

"Why must you answer everything with a question?" sighed Lucius, delicately running his fingertips down the curvature of her spine.

"What reason do I have to come with you?" Narcissa asked once again, nodding to another passing guest.

"To hear the answers you've been waiting for," whispered Lucius, sensing her posture straighten in response.

"You lie," returned Narcissa, fighting the urge to expose him.

Narcissa felt Lucius gently touch her elbow, pulling her back from the crowds.

"What do you think you're doing?" gasped Narcissa, her eyes darting around the room.

"Using force," replied Lucius, taking her hand and pulling her towards the staircase.

"Unhand me!" hissed Narcissa, trying not to trip up the stairs.

Lucius blissfully ignored her protests as he continued to guide her forcefully up the marble staircase. He could hear people gasping in shock as he barged his way through the crowds with Narcissa in tow. Narcissa could hear their disgruntled whispers, the rumours already spreading...

"This way," muttered Lucius, leading a bewildered Narcissa towards one of the many balconies that littered the Lestrange manor.

Throwing open the balcony doors, Lucius felt the cool night air ripple through his expensive dress robes. Closing the doors behind him and Narcissa, he turned to face her, his grey eyes drinking in her beauty. Words couldn't describe how beautiful she was – from the flowing gold of her hair to the exasperated pout that drew up her lips. _Beautiful..._

"Care to explain why we are standing out here?" sighed Narcissa, crossing her gloved arms across her chest.

"Even walls have ears," smiled Lucius, resting casually against the balcony.

"I knew this was a mistake," mumbled Narcissa, turning to leave.

"Wait," called Lucius, pushing himself from the balcony.

"What?" countered Narcissa, her eyes settling on his handsome countenance. The hurt inside stabbed at her like a knife, but she never broke her stare.

"I didn't drag you up here for nothing," smiled Lucius, resting his hand on her waist.

"Don't," murmured Narcissa, her eyes looking at the ground.

"Don't what?" whispered Lucius, stroking the side of her moonlit face.

"Don't touch me," whispered Narcissa, turning away from his touch. "I can't live this lie anymore."

"That's noble of you," smiled Lucius, stroking her golden hair, "but perhaps a little too late in coming."

"Don't lecture me," snapped Narcissa, brushing his hand away.

"Listen to me," interrupted Lucius, grabbing her wrist. "For once, just lis-,"

"You Russian bastard!!"

"Now hold on a second, Rodolphus," called Rabastan, pulling his brother back, "What's the meaning of this?"

"Why don't you ask him?" snarled Rodolphus, pointing his wand at Antonin Dolohov who calmly stood his ground in front of the angered Lestrange.

"Antonin?" questioned Rabastan, his emerald eyes flicking between him and his brother. "Care to explain?"

"I think your brother might haf had too much to drink?" suggested Antonin, shrugging his shoulders yet keeping a firm grip on his wand.

"How dare you!" raged Rodolphus, pushing his brother aside whilst advancing towards Dolohov.

"STOP!" screeched the female that stood between the two wizards. "For Merlin's sake Rodolphus!"

"Get out of my way, Bella," snarled Rodolphus, thrusting his wand in front of him, "or so help me I'll-,"

"You'll do what?" interrupted Bellatrix, her eyes glittering. "Kill me? Ha! You haven't got it in you."

"Stay out of this Bellatrix," warned Rabastan, pulling his brother back. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"What's this Rodolphus?" jeered Bellatrix. "Big brother sticking up for you again?"

"I said, get out of my way!" snarled Rodolphus, pushing Bellatrix forcefully aside. "You worthless slut."

"Stop, for Circe's sake Rodolphus!" yelled Rabastan. "You're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?" laughed Rodolphus in disbelief. "He's the one making the scene!"

"Lower your vand, Lestrange," warned Dolohov, bringing his wand level at Rodolphus' chest. "Now."

"You think to order me around, _comrade_?" scowled Rodolphus, rounding on his victim. "You? The orphan son of some backwater Communists?"

"If you knew the truth, you wouldn't threaten him so idly!" screeched Bellatrix, her wand in hand.

"How did I know you'd side with this poor excuse for a pureblood," snarled Rodolphus, spitting at the ground beneath Dolohov's feet. "So come on then, _comrade_, what truth don't I know?"

"Rodolphus," cautioned Rabastan, his wand now in his hand. "Leave it."

"No, Rabastan," sneered Rodolphus, pushing his wand firmly at Dolohov's chest. "Let's hear it. I'm sure all these fine people would appreciate the truth too!"

The scene between Dolohov and Rodolphus had managed to draw a massive crowd. The two wizards were circled in by a wall of flesh, whispers abounding around the silken barricades. Rodolphus stalked about Dolohov as a lion would stalk about its prey, measuring him up, testing him...

"Tell us!" roared Rodolphus, failing to notice the scarlet tinge that had drowned out the black of Dolohov's eyes.

"Why should I tell you?" challenged Dolohov, his eyes never breaking their hold on the young Lestrange.

"Afraid?" jeered Rodolphus, a triumphant smile emblazoned across his face.

"Afraid for you, yes," replied Dolohov, his eyes now a bloody red.

"Save your fears for yourself," retorted Rodolphus, unaware of the imminent danger he was in.

"I'll ask you once more, Lestrange," warned Dolohov. "Lower your vand."

"No chance," mouthed Rodolphus, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Very well," sighed Dolohov. "I vill tell you the truth, but my truth vill come at a price."

"Name it," smiled Rodolphus, confident that he could pay any price Dolohov asked for.

"Duel me," stated Dolohov plainly. "That is my price."

"Small price to pay for such _enticing_ information, don't you think Rabastan?"

Rodolphus taunted, turning his eyes to his anxious looking brother.

"You are more of a fool than I thought," muttered Rabastan, shaking his head in disbelief.

_He must learn from his mistakes, my friend_, thought Dolohov, surveying Rabastan's face.

"Now I vill give you vat you haf been waiting for," announced Dolohov, his scarlet eyes flaming. "Are you ready?"

"Ready and waiting," sneered Rodolphus, not knowing the horrors that awaited him.

The crowd stood back in shock as they watched an aura of blood-red engulf the foreign wizard that stood in their midst. Narcissa could feel herself grow cold all over as if a thousand Dementors walked silently amongst them; she felt Lucius' pull her close, his eyes transfixed on the sight below.

"What _is_ that?" gasped Narcissa.

"This, Miss Black, is Dark Arts like you've never seen before," replied Lucius coolly. "Lestrange is a fool for underestimating him."

Their eyes watched as Dolohov began muttering a language that seemed completely incoherent to their ears – a subverted type of Latin perhaps? His chants grew louder, the aura grew darker, and they watched as Rodolphus suddenly clutched his head, screaming violently in pain. Dolohov advanced on the foolish boy, his wand drawn tracing a circle about his victim, trapping him inside the truth he so badly longed to know. Rodolphus lay collapsed on the grass, his body convulsing, and froth pouring from the sides of his mouth... but it was not over yet, far from it; what Dolohov had shown him was merely the beginning, the beginning of a terrifying nightmare.

* * *

_Hope you all like cliffhangers hehe! Next chapter will be much more focused on Cissa and Lucy, along with Evan; will she tell him or not? Well, all will be revealed next chapter, along with a few more surprising twists and turns. Guess this was just a taster chapter for the good stuff to come. So glad the Ball has finally arrived... alas my tale is coming to an end methinks! Enjoy, and I'll get cracking on Chapter 12! R/R _


	12. Chapter 12: I Looked At You

_Right, the second part of the LeStrange Ball! I have a few treats in store for you all! Once again I really want to thank all you loyal reviewers and readers, without all your support, this fic would have been long dead. Well enjoy the chappie everyone and I hope it doesn't disappoint! _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 12:.**

It felt like a thousand demons tearing apart his very soul as the essence of Dolohov's spell coursed through him. He felt paralysed, strangled, as if his body were a hostage to the darkness itself. Rodolphus could do nothing but watch, watch as the horrific tale of Antonin Dolohov's life played out before his very eyes...

The murders, the countless murders...

With each curse that was uttered, another bolt of mind-numbing pain exploded inside Rodolphus' head. He struggled to clutch at the pain, to soothe it away, but his limbs were bound by bonds of invisible strength. His mind felt violated, violated by unknown faces leering at him through the darkness, their features frozen in the throes of a most hideous death. Watching from the shadows of the past, Rodolphus saw the truth, the truth of an event long disguised...

_He knew if he didn't do it, no one else would. His parents had risked too much to expose themselves once again; the untimely defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald ensured that no supporter dare show their allegiance ever again. He vowed to change that... one day, wizardkind would kneel before a new Lord, a Lord even more powerful then Grindelwald. Pulling the dark hood over his head, Antonin Dolohov crept out of the house, gently closing the door behind him. Wand in hand, he stole down into the village below, the cold Russian wind threatening to expose his identity._

_The village reeked of **them**: the filthy muggles who dared to impinge on Dolohov land. Their quaint houses basking in the warmth of flickering fires, the buzzing light of the electrical devices flashing against the papered walls... they had gone too far. Dolohov had made his peace with whatever God there might be; in his heart he knew he would be doing the wizarding world a favour, setting an example perhaps. He would show them all that this was **their **world, a world they would share with no-one..._

_A gentle chuckle emerged from the cracked lips of the hooded assailant, as he stalked up the snow covered pathway to pass his judgement on the unsuspecting muggles who lay blissfully unaware of their untimely end. Silently unlocking the door, Dolohov snuck into the house, listening to the chatter from the living room. Pushing the living room door open, he saw the sleeping figure of a man, lounging in a well-worn armchair, saliva hanging idly from the corner of his mouth._

"_You disgust me," muttered Dolohov in his native tongue, his gloved finger wiping the saliva across the man's stubbly face. "All of you. You shall be the first to feel my wrath."_

_Dolohov watched as the man's eyes flickered open, staring in mystified horror at the masked face of his murderer. Before he could so much as scream, a harsh green light enveloped him, sealing his fate whilst stealing away his life's essence._

"_It's almost too easy," muttered Dolohov, looking at the corpse that lay in front of him._

"_Is someone there?" came a troubled female voice. "Nikolai?"_

_Dolohov stood up, his dark eyes fixed on the door. He could hear the woman's soft footsteps pattering down the staircase as she made her way into the living room. Her green eyes locked with those of her husband's killer, as she stood motionless in front of him._

"_Oh God!" she cried, her eyes darting down to her husband's lifeless form. "God save us!"_

"_Your God won't save you now," spat Dolohov, his harsh Russian tones coated in venom. "Nothing will."_

_Her screams were drowned out instantly as she perished in the same way as her husband, the familiar green light wrapping about her slim frame, feeding on her life until there was nothing left. There was something different about her though... something not completely muggle. It didn't matter to him though, her ancestors were obvious blood-traitors and thus, her death was deserved as an act of repentance for her ancestors' sins._

_The two bodies of his victims stared back at him, the faces frozen, their eyes wide with shock and fear. However, Dolohov had a feeling that there were more than just two people in this house. Looking around the living room, his feelings were confirmed as his eyes fell on the wooden rattle that lay redundantly on the mantelpiece. A wicked smile broke out across the masked face of the young wizard as he made his way up the staircase to put an end, once and for all, to the future of the Markovich family._

Rodolphus felt himself wrenched back into the living world, spirited away from all the memories, all the murder. The pain in his head began to ebb away until it was a dull ache that stung when he tried to recollect the horrors he had witnessed. Bellatrix was right – he wouldn't have threatened Dolohov so idly had he known what he was capable of. He truly was a magnificent wizard – this pain had been an awakening for him, an example of what his life would, inevitably, entail.

Rodolphus' blue eyes flickered open, focusing on the multitude of faces that surrounded him. He could see the concerned yet angered look in his brother's eyes, and the satisfied gaze that lingered in the hollow eyes of Dolohov himself. Bringing a pale hand to his face, Rodolphus wiped away the froth that had spilled from his mouth and the trickles of blood that had begun to seep from his ears. It had been a truly life affirming experience. Dolohov walked forward, his hand outstretched towards his dishevelled host.

"You killed them, didn't you?" gasped Rodolphus, surprised at how out of breath he was. "It was you who killed that family of mudbloods."

"It is true," smiled Dolohov, pulling Rodolphus to his feet. "Yet my mother and father..."

"They took the blame," finished Rodolphus, brushing down his robes. "And then you ended their lives."

"It vas the least I could do for them," replied Dolohov proudly. "You vould all do the same."

"I believe I understand you better," declared Rodolphus, clapping his fellow wizard on the shoulder, "my friend."

"Well, friend," nodded Dolohov, readying himself, "you know the cost of that information."

"Twenty paces then?" joked Rodolphus, watching the relieved look wash across Rabastan's face.

"Tventy paces it is," replied Dolohov, fully aware that whatever the outcome of the duel, victory would be his.

She didn't know whether it was loyalty or the sight of Rodolphus writhing on the floor that made her stay – she had a feeling it was probably the latter. Bellatrix had revelled in the knowledge Dolohov had imparted to her; she could still feel his strong hands pressed against her temples, their foreheads touching as he guided her through his murderous past. She had seen the truth and she had exalted in it. It would only be a matter of time before a new army was raised, an army greater than that of Grindelwald's – one that would make muggles and wizards alike pay for their treachery.

Now that the amusing spectacle was over, Bellatrix had grown bored. She was bored with Rodolphus and his sycophantic nature; she was bored with not being the centre of attention. Whether Rodolphus had lived or died from the excruciating pain he had suffered from meant nothing to her; all that mattered to her now was, once again, causing a stir and a scandal. The whole reason for her attending this Ball was to expose her darling sister and drive Lucius into her waiting arms. So long had she waited, waited for the day that she would finally sink her nails into the illusive Lucius Malfoy.

"Where are you going?" hissed Rabastan, grabbing Bellatrix by the top of her arm.

"None of your business, Lestrange," replied Bellatrix, throwing off Rabastan's grip.

"My brother needs your support," continued Rabastan in hushed tones. "The least you could do is stay."

"Your brother has made it abundantly clear that I am no more than a worthless slut," smiled Bellatrix, "and I plan to prove him right."

"Words spoken in anger," reasoned Rabastan, shaking his head as he remembered his brother's words.

"You believe that?" questioned Bellatrix, cupping Rabastan's face in her hand.

"Don't," replied Rabastan, removing her hand and looking her hard in the eye.

"You do, don't you?" laughed Bellatrix cruelly. "Then you're more of a fool than I thought."

Turning away from his piercing glare, Bellatrix pushed her way through the crowds, hearing Rabastan vainly calling after her. Oh, how she would prove the worth of Rodolphus' words, and how she would laugh when Rodolphus found out he was no more than a mere rung on her ladder to success.

* * *

She was nowhere to be found. Evan had searched the whole of the ballroom in a vain search for his partner, but to no avail. Where could she have disappeared to? The last time he saw her, she was with her cousin, Sirius Black, perhaps he had an idea... Evan was loath to talk to the young Black again; much like his elder cousins he had developed the same cruel pride that seemed to have a firm stranglehold on the Black family. Spying the young boy out of the corner of his eye, he made his way over to him, downing both his and Narcissa's drinks on the way there.

"You, Black," started Evan, beckoning him over.

"What do you want?" snarled Sirius, clearly disgruntled that he had to put up with these absurd conversations.

"Where did Narcissa go?" replied Evan as civilly as he could. "She was with you."

"Why should I know, or care for that matter, where she's gone?" grumbled Sirius, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. "You should put a leash on her, perhaps then you wouldn't lose her."

"Watch your tongue, Black," growled Evan, stepping forward into Sirius' personal space.

"Back off, Rosier," countered Sirius, his dark eyes narrowing in disgust.

"I could kill you where you stand," smiled Evan, the alcohol infusing him with bold confidence.

"Oh, I'm petrified," gasped Sirius sarcastically, his eyes widening in feigned fear. "Besides, even **you** wouldn't be so stupid as to kill a Black."

"Killing Blacks?" came a honey-drenched voice. "Evan, you surprise me."

Both young men turned to see the smiling face of Bellatrix Black, her heavy-lidded eyes surveying them both with amused disdain. Resting her hand casually on her hip, she turned to face her younger cousin, Sirius... He had grown up, but certainly not into his position as the Black heir.

"So you decided to show your face," smiled Bellatrix, her voice dangerously soft. "About time. We all thought you'd turn out to be another Andromeda."

"I'd rather be like her than you," snarled Sirius, eyeing his cousin with the utmost contempt. "I'm glad she got out when she had the chance."

"And so were we," sneered Bellatrix, her face darkening. "It doesn't pay to have a bloodtraitor in the family."

An overwhelming tension settled between the three, as Bellatrix and Sirius glared at each other, each imagining the hideous and painful ways the other one would die. Evan felt lost, caught in the middle of a violent family feud; all he wanted was to find Narcissa and quickly. The tension was quickly dispersed as Sirius pushed past Evan, catching his shoulder as he went. A confrontation with Narcissa AND Bellatrix in one evening was more than the young Black could handle.

"Merlin, he's such a weakling," sighed Bellatrix, watching her cousin weave through the crowds.

"Where's Rodolphus?" asked Evan, his amber eyes searching for the younger Lestrange - the events of last week had made him more cautious around Bellatrix, especially in his semi-inebriated state.

"Duelling Dolohov or something boring like that," replied Bellatrix, her eyes finally settling on Rosier's troubled countenance. "Something up?"

"You could say that," sighed Evan, running a hand through his dark hair. "Have you seen Cissa anywhere?"

"Hmm," pondered Bellatrix, biding her time before she dropped her bombshell. "Can't say I have."

"Right," muttered Evan, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

"Lost her already?" smiled Bellatrix, cocking her head to one side. "You aren't having _problems_, are you?"

"Nothing we can't sort out," concluded Evan, noticing the intrusive tone in her voice.

"Of course," replied Bellatrix, shooting him her slyest smile. "Well, maybe she's with Lucius. I did overhear some people saying they went off together."

"What do you mean?" challenged Evan, his amber eyes flaming with jealousy.

"Don't you know?" gasped Bellatrix, clapping a manicured hand over her mouth. "Oh, me and my big mouth!"

"You know something," snarled Evan, clutching Bellatrix' shoulder. "Tell me... **now**."

"With pleasure," smiled Bellatrix deviously, tracing her finger along Evan's jawline.

* * *

"I'd wager fifty galleons that Bellatrix was behind that," sighed Lucius, turning away from the scene below.

"I'd stake my life on it," mumbled Narcissa, watching Bellatrix push through the crowds.

Somehow Narcissa knew where Bellatrix was going... call it sisterly intuition. She knew that Bellatrix was going to find Evan, and she also knew that she was going to disclose everything to him. However, for some reason, Narcissa didn't care. She couldn't explain why she felt this way, she just did and it scared her. Turning away from the balcony, she stood a little a way from Lucius whose eyes were still fixed on the impending duel below.

"I am going back down," began Narcissa. "You led me here under false pretences... again."

"And you fall for it each time," drawled Lucius, finally turning away from the balcony.

"This time," started Narcissa solemnly, "I thought it would be different."

"It might be," countered Lucius, his hands resting on her waist, "if you stay."

"You are creasing my dress," replied Narcissa coolly, removing his hands from her waist. "Now unless you have something to say, I'm going."

"Going back to Rosier?" spat Lucius, spinning Narcissa around to face him.

She could see an anger burning in his eyes as he looked at her, an obstinate grimace plastered across his handsome countenance. She couldn't falter now...

"Why not?" questioned Narcissa, gauging Lucius' response.

"I thought you couldn't live this _lie_ anymore," replied Lucius, his cold eyes freezing over.

"Oh, I can," smiled Narcissa sweetly, smoothing out the creases in his robes. "Just for the pleasure of seeing you suffer."

* * *

"_She's been with Lucius all this time."_

Bellatrix's words hit him like a sledgehammer to the head._ "Both of them, stealing away together..."_ How could he have been made such a fool of? _"There was no meeting with Professor Eltanin..."_An unfamiliar sting of pain drove deep into his heart as he thought of the past week that he and Narcissa had spent together... _"I saw them... together..." _All that was a lie?

"I'm so sorry," lied Bellatrix, a sorrowful smile brazenly plastered across her face, "but I did try to tell you."

"How can I trust you?" growled Evan, vainly trying to control his anger. "How do I know you aren't just making this up?"

"I'll bet you've been thinking about Lucius and her for a long time," began Bellatrix. "The jealousy must have driven you insane. Wondering where she was, where he was... whether they were toge-,"

"Just stop it!" shouted Evan, cutting off his confirmed fears. "Just stop."

"I know," sympathised Bellatrix, suppressing the urge to laugh in victory, "the truth hurts."

"If you're lying," warned Evan, his face draining of colour, "Merlin help you."

"Lying?" replied Bellatrix, her mouth open in feigned shock. "What would I get out of lying to you?"

Evan knew she was right... Bellatrix had nothing to gain out of this situation, or so he thought. Little did he know how the wheels and cogs in her devious mind were working overtime.

"I'm sorry," sighed Evan, running two hands through his hair. "I jus-,"

"Sshh," soothed Bellatrix, placing a finger on his lips. "There's no need to apologise."

"Bella, I..." started Evan, but his words were cut short by a pair of red lips pressed against his own.

"You want to know how to pay me back?" whispered Bellatrix, cradling his face in her hands.

"I **know** how to pay you back," replied Evan softly, the firewhiskey hitting him with its full force. "Just tell me where they are first."

* * *

"Suffer?" laughed Lucius, taken aback by Narcissa's masochistic reply.

"It gives me great pleasure," replied Narcissa innocently.

"Oh, really?" countered Lucius, pulling Narcissa towards him.

"Yes, really," she smiled sweetly, feeling Lucius' arms around her waist once again. However, this time she didn't protest...

"Do you know what gives me pleasure?" whispered Lucius, breathing in her cool scent.

"I can only imagine," sighed Narcissa, her lips fighting the urge to smile.

"MALFOY!! I know you're up here!"

"Oh Merlin, that isn't who I think it is, is it?" drawled Lucius. Releasing his hands from Narcissa's waist, he reached into his robes, but a soft hand stopped him.

"No," started Narcissa, shaking her head. "Not here."

Throwing open the balcony doors, the tall dishevelled figure of Evan Rosier stood swaying in the doorway. His dark hair was mussed up beyond belief and his once sharp amber eyes were dulled beyond recognition.

"How could you do this to me?" began Evan, stumbling towards Narcissa, his arms outstretched.

"Look at you," smiled Narcissa calmly. "You've had too much to drink."

"DON'T PATRONISE ME!" raged Evan, his amber eyes suddenly becoming clear. "Bellatrix has told me everything. Is it true?"

"Is what true?" interrupted Lucius, putting himself between Evan and Narcissa.

"Keep out of this Malfoy," scowled Evan. "This is between me and her."

"He's right," replied Narcissa, stepping in front of Lucius. "This is between you and me, Evan."

"Why him, Cissa?" asked Evan, his head shaking in disbelief. "What has he got that I haven't, huh?"

"Sorry, but you think me and _her_?" replied Lucius, unable and unwilling to keep silent. "Merlin, are you deluded."

"I said KEEP OUT OF THIS!" shouted Evan, his face pale beyond belief.

"You're more stupid that I thought," jeered Lucius, rolling his eyes at the boy in front of him. "You insult me to even _think_ I'd have a relationship with this girl."

"You're lying," replied Evan, a maniac smile breaking out across his lips. "Lying to protect her."

"Protect her?" questioned Lucius amusedly. "You are sadly mistaken."

"I don't believe you," spat Evan, his eyes fixed pointedly on Lucius.

"Oh, you don't believe me, but you believe Bellatrix?" mocked Lucius. "She's been filling your head with lies, playing on your paranoia, Rosier."

"She wouldn't, she has nothing to gain," retorted Evan angrily.

"Oh, how little you know," smiled Lucius triumphantly, watching Rosier crumble, not knowing who to believe, was a great pleasure.

"Cissa?" interrupted Evan, his eyes now watching the young Black girl, her golden tresses glinting in the moonlight.

"It's over Evan," muttered Narcissa turning away from both wizards, her eyes stinging with angry tears.

"Then it's true?" questioned Evan, his eyes fixed on her delicate form as she stood at the balcony. "You and him?"

"She didn't say that, Rosier," drawled Lucius, obstructing Evan's view of Narcissa. "She just doesn't want you anymore."

"I want to hear that from her!" snarled Evan, suddenly pushing past Lucius and seizing Narcissa by the shoulders. "Tell me you don't want me!! TELL ME!"

Narcissa refused to meet his glare, her eyes focused on a piece of moss that lay beneath Evan's feet. She could feel the strength of his vice-like grip on her shoulders... there would be bruises there tomorrow, but she wouldn't cry out in pain.

"Unhand her, Rosier," growled Lucius, his wand clearly at Evan's throat. "Now."

"Look at me," murmured Evan, his eyes trying to detect some semblance of emotion on Narcissa's face.

"I won't ask you again," snarled Lucius, grabbing Evan by his shoulder. "Let go of her."

"Why won't you look at me Cissa? For God's sake!" whispered Evan, his hand pushing back her golden hair, ignoring Lucius' threats. "We were good together, right? Me and you?"

"It's over," replied Narcissa forcefully, her cerulean eyes finally meeting his. "You meant nothing to me."

"You don't mean that," laughed Evan disbelievingly. "You don't... you can't mean that."

"I do," continued Narcissa, prising his hands from her shoulders. "You are nothing to me."

"I think you should leave, Rosier," muttered Lucius, pulling Evan back. "You've made quite enough of a scene already."

"You're lying to yourself," smiled Evan, his eyes still fixed on Narcissa. "I know you're lying. We have something, Cissa. You know we do."

"Just go," sighed Narcissa, turning out towards the balcony once more.

"You heard her," warned Lucius, his wand point threateningly at Evan's chest.

"GET OFF ME!" snarled Evan, his eyes once more blazing with an unquenchable fire. "You'll be sorry, both of you."

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Lucius, rolling his eyes. "Just leave."

The slamming of the balcony doors brought Narcissa from her thoughts. It was over... her and Evan were no more, ultimately like her and Lucius; if there ever was a 'her and Lucius', it had ended. It wasn't so much his words, but the casual nature with which he uttered them. "_Sorry, but you think me and her?"_ His words felt like knives ripping apart her insides, gutting her open, exposing her for what she was. _"You insult me to even think I'd have a relationship with this girl..."_ She just wanted to get out, get away from Evan, away from Lucius, away from everyone.

"Well?" questioned Lucius, walking towards the silent Narcissa, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"For what?" replied Narcissa harshly, fighting the urge to give into the emotional vortex that was swirling inside her.

"What do you mean for what?" challenged Lucius, his eyes narrowing at her lack of respect. "For saving your reputation that's what."

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" retorted Narcissa sarcastically, feeling his presence behind her.

"What else?" replied Lucius, gently resting his hands over the painful red marks that clung to her pale white arms.

"Don't touch me!" cried Narcissa angrily, pushing him away from her. "Never touch me again!"

"What is the matter with you?" questioned Lucius, affronted by her violent outburst.

"You!" replied Narcissa, her cobalt eyes brimming with fire. "You are what the matter is!"

"You love me, don't you?" whispered Lucius, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. _Who wouldn't?_

"Never," scoffed Narcissa, her head shaking in disbelief. "How could I when all you do is lie?! Everything you say is a lie, every word, every gesture!"

"Presumptuous, aren't we?" drawled Lucius, refusing to let her anger him. "I could say the same about you. Lying to Evan, lying to me, lying to yourself. You're no better."

"Don't try and turn this around!" snapped Narcissa.

"Why not?" challenged Lucius dangerously. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Merlin take you!" replied Narcissa heatedly, before walking towards the balcony doors.

"You leave, you can forget about hearing the real reason I brought you up here," countered Lucius slyly, watching Narcissa stop dead in her tracks.

Lucius casually walked towards her, willing to tell her everything, to prove to her that there was more to him than met the eye. Gently placing his hand on her shoulder, he softly turned her around so that her anger-ridden face met his. He could feel her pulling away, but his grasp was strong enough to keep her still.

"I'll never believe anything you say again," muttered Narcissa coldly. "Nev-,"

But her last word did not materialise, instead her lips were sealed with a forceful embrace. Narcissa could feel Lucius' soft lips pressed firmly against her own, his cold hands cradling her equally cold face. She just wanted to bury all the anger, the heartache and the waiting into this one moment of solitary bliss as their kiss deepened further. Their breathing was in unison, bursts of warm mist dissipating on the midnight air. _If only time could stand still..._

"If you never believe anything, then just believe this," whispered Lucius, breaking their embrace whilst pulling Narcissa close to his chest.

"I-," started Narcissa, but nothing came out. She was speechless. What did this moment of genuine honesty mean?

"There is something I need to tell you," began Lucius, tilting her face up to his.

"No more lies," replied Narcissa, her eyes searching his for the slightest semblance of sincerity.

There was a prolonged pause as the two stood wrapped in each others arms, Lucius' head resting on hers, Narcissa's against his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, calm, and regular... everything he was not, except she didn't care, not anymore. There was more to this than mere infatuation, she had come to accept that he was everything to her, although she would never admit that anyone, not even him...

"Narcissa, I'm leaving Hogwarts and England... for good."

* * *

_This was the saddest chapter I've ever had to write. Ok, I know no-one dies, but... waaaaaah! Poor Evan! Poor Narcissa! Poor sakurazukamori! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it's been waiting to happen for about 6months now lol. Hope you all like the chapter, and if you don't, I'm sorry. Leave me a review if you feel inclined to do so. Chapter 13 (eep!) might not appear for awhile, I've got end of year exams coming up soon. Thanks again to everyone who reviews my little ficlet, you know who you are! _


	13. Chapter 13: Wicked Game

_Okay, for one thing, I'm sorry the update has taken so long! Exams almost pushed me over the edge and I'm only in my first year!! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much I enjoyed writing it :D _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 13:.**

_I'm leaving Hogwarts and England... for good_

The words reverberated about the seemingly hollow chasm where her heart had once been. _Leaving?_ Narcissa felt numb as if any feeling, both physical and emotional, had drained away leaving her with an empty nothingness. She wanted to grasp at her chest, soothe away this stabbing pain, but she couldn't because he still had his arms encircled around her. She prayed for once in her life that he was playing a cruel joke, something to ire her, a foolish prank, anything but the cold, hard truth.

"You're lying aren't you?" murmured Narcissa, her blue eyes searching his for a hint of jest, but she was met with unbending sincerity.

Lucius merely shook his head in response; he had felt her small frame tense up the moment the words had left his mouth. She felt as stiff as a board in his arms, the impact of those final words hitting her hard. Rubbing her arms reassuringly with his hands he let out a gentle sigh to the night air.

"It's my father," began Lucius. "Let's just say he has a _problem_ with Dumbledore's teaching methods or so he tells me. I am to be transferred to Durmstrang in place of Dolohov."

Narcissa listened to his words; their scripted nature surprised her, as if the message had been drilled into him countless times; his father's words spilling from his own mouth. She felt herself subconsciously break away from his hold, shaking her head in unwillingly relinquished defeat. Narcissa couldn't bear it; the feelings she had towards him, were they all for nothing? The risks she had taken? The pride she had countless times swallowed, was that all for nothing? She wanted to scream, to shout all her pain away, but nothing would come.

"Narcissa," started Lucius, his eyes softening as he reached out towards her. "Please?"

Shaking her head once more she took another shaky step away from him. She couldn't let herself feel his touch again now that she knew he was to be taken away from her forever. _Forever..._ It was the infinite nature of that word that frightened her the most, much more than the concept of forever itself.

"How," she began quietly. "How long have you known?"

"Not as long as you suspect," answered Lucius calmly, watching her beautiful eyes flay him alive. "My father told me mere hours ago."

"When are you going?" continued Narcissa, praying that her voice wouldn't falter or desert her.

"Why don't you just dose me with veritaserum?" joked Lucius, a slight smile appearing, but disappearing just as fast as he saw Narcissa look away, either in anger or sadness. Now wasn't the time for jests, he understood the severity of the situation... by God he did. "I will be leaving as soon as my father wishes which will, inevitably, be soon."

_Don't go!_ Oh, how she wanted to shout those words out loud instead of letting them rot away in her conscious, but she was stopped; unwillingly stopped by the one thing that would never desert her. Narcissa wanted to cast it away, this arrogant façade that she had grown to love and hate in equal measure. She wanted to show him that she truly cared about him, that her feelings were more than what they appeared, but no matter how hard she tried her words wouldn't come. What would it be to live without him, she asked herself. Could she deal with not having Lucius in her life, to tease her, to lie to her, to kiss her, hold her? The world for her would become desolate, dissonant, accompanied by an insatiable loneliness that would never go away, haunting her for the rest of her days.

"You think I want this, don't you?" asked Lucius, looking at her with his composed gaze, attempting to discover the thoughts that were running through the young girl's mind; it wouldn't be the first time that he would have to contest with a solid wall of ice.

"Well, don't you?" countered Narcissa, her fists balled up beside her, the faintest trace of goose pimples tainting her pale skin. _Why am I attacking him?_

"What do you think?" replied Lucius, turning away from her and walking towards the balcony edge. Resting his arms on the cold granite, he let out another sigh, this one much more defined than the last. Why couldn't she understand that it wasn't just _her_ that was affected by this situation? Did she really think that he wanted this?

Narcissa watched him, Lucius, turn away from her, his head shaking in silent disbelief. _Please let me tell him, tell him that I lo..._ but there was nothing. The three simple, monosyllabic words she wanted to utter caught in her throat, refusing to be spoken. Turning her eyes up to the sky, she drew in a sharp breath of air vainly attempting to calm the tumultuous feelings that hurled themselves against her bowers. Taking a few tentative steps towards Lucius' silent figure, she felt herself bite into her lower lip as she rested her golden head against his back, her slender arms wrapping themselves around him.

"So this is the end," she whispered, her embrace tightening. She didn't know why, but it felt so right being there with him spending what could well be their last few hours in blissful unison.

Her pessimistic murmur caused Lucius to turn and face her; Narcissa felt him bring her close, his hand caressing her lower back whilst he gazed intently into her deep cobalt eyes. He thought for a second, just a second, that he had seen the remnants of regret, of sadness, flicker in their cold depths; he knew he wasn't imaging things, there truly was more to Narcissa than met the eye.

"The end?" he started softly, his hand stroking the sharp contours of her face. "No, it's not the end."

"Then what?" began Narcissa, her pained eyes wordlessly questioning him.

"It's just the beginning," he concluded, smiling, as he felt Narcissa rest her head against his chest; the sound of silence once again enveloping them in its harmony.

* * *

"He gets it off his father, there's no doubt there."

"Oh, I agree."

"He's destined to accomplish great things."

"Who knows? Maybe he'll be the next Minister for Magic?"

"Here, here!"

It was almost more than Evan could stand, and with the alcohol's effect wearing off fast the last thing he needed was the reeling off of his rivals endless qualities and talents. Lucius this, Lucius that, there was never any mention of the Rosier family and their accomplishments. _No, there wouldn't be..._ In the pureblood hierarchy the Rosier family were hardly 'high class.' No matter how hard he tried, nothing good ever came of it. He put everything into his schoolwork only to be told it could be better, he had put everything into his relationship with Narcissa only to have it thrown back in his face.

"_It's over." "You meant nothing to me." "You are nothing to me."_

Her cruel words ran through his mind over and over again accompanied by Lucius Malfoy's jeering voice ringing in his ears. The sensory overload was becoming too much for Evan and for the second time that week he felt the biting crunch of his fist hitting solid matter. However, this time instead of hitting wood, he was hitting Venetian marble... He felt himself draw in a sharp breath to help contain his pain, to prevent him from cursing out loud. His knuckles were a complete mess, swollen, purple and most probably fractured.

"You really have to find a better way of releasing tension," smirked a familiar female voice. "Seriously."

Bellatrix watched as Evan turned around, his right hand cradled in his left. His usually sharp amber eyes were glazed over with a drunken haze, his face was drained of all colour highlighting the purple rings around his eyes sockets.

"It was true," muttered Evan, shaking his head. "All of it."

"You think I made it up?" questioned Bellatrix, taking a few steps towards Evan. "I told yo-,"

"Just leave me alone," interrupted Evan, turning away from Bellatrix and heading towards his room.

"You can't hide forever!" called Bellatrix, but her words fell on deaf ears as Evan closed the bedroom door behind him.

Looking around her, making sure she wasn't being followed by a certain Lestrange, Bellatrix walked towards Evan's guest room, a sly smile gracing her lips. Shaking her hair out behind her she grasped the door handle.

"Open invite or what?" muttered Bellatrix, noting the fact that Evan hadn't locked the door behind him.

Pushing the door open, little did she know what awaited her the moment she stepped inside...

Bellatrix felt herself stop dead in her tracks as she saw Evan changing out of his dress robes. It wasn't the fact that Evan was extremely toned and semi-naked that caught her attention, it was something else, something far more surprising; the immense tattoo he had emblazoned across his muscular back... at least she thought it was a tattoo. On closer inspection it appeared to be a series of what looked like brands. Yes, they were dark sigils, emblems of demons from Dark Lore seared into his flesh, a physical, and no doubt mental, reminder of both his blood and his allegiance.

"Impressive," she felt herself mutter under her breath.

"Get out Bella," snarled Evan, turning around to face his intruder. His amber eyes burned with a fiery soberness, the drunken haze melting away.

Unlike his back Evan's chest was smooth, free from brands and flagellation marks; in some ways that disappointed Bellatrix, but it wasn't like she was here to be impressed. She was here to make a point, a statement, to prove Rodolphus right and to get what she came for.

"What about my payback, Rosier?" countered Bellatrix, prowling towards him. Her dark eyes fixed on her quarry.

"What about it?" snapped Evan, throwing his dress robes on to the floor in exasperation.

"You of all people should know," began Bellatrix, cupping his frowning face in her hands, "you can't take all the time, you gotta give too."

"Don't make me use force, Bella," warned Evan, grabbing her wrists in his hands whilst pulling them away from his face. He was surprised at just how fragile her wrists seemed, how he could crush them in his grasp if he applied enough force...

"Oh, by all means do," smiled Bellatrix, running her tongue across her lips.

It always made her laugh to see how quickly men crumbled with the right words, their macho egos shattered in seconds. Evan's face had dropped when she had spoken those words and she could feel his grip loosening on her wrists. Had she hit a nerve or perhaps a fantasy? Either way, she knew that she had Rosier exactly where she wanted him.

"Look, just leave," sighed Evan, releasing her wrists and turning back towards the window. "I'm not in the mood for your games."

Unfortunately for Evan, Bellatrix wasn't one to take 'no' for an answer. Instead of heading towards the door and leaving like any respectable person would she ran her hands across Evan's back, massaging his tense shoulders. She could feel his muscles stiffen further under her touch, his shoulder blades poised. Tracing the various brands with her fingertips, she brought her lips to his back, kissing each one, worshipping them in her own erotic way.

It was a tantalising experience, feeling the heat of someone's breath against your flesh, feeling their nails catch on your skin, their tongue tasting your carnal sensations. He didn't want her there, he wanted to be on his own, but something bestial inside him was stirred by this sensuality.

"I don't think you really want me to leave," whispered Bellatrix huskily, her tongue seductively grazing his ear lobe.

It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore Bellatrix now that his inner desires had been stirred up to near bursting point. He wanted to throw her down on to the bed, to plunge his anger and hatred and frustration into her. He wanted to forget was it was like to be second best... Evan's faith in loyalty had been shaken that night to the point where he didn't care if Rodolphus walked in on their escapade. He just didn't care anymore. She was there and he needed her to serve a purpose. Turning around, he shot Bellatrix a look that mixed anger and desire into one single fearsome emotion. Bellatrix was quick to pick up on his intentions...

"You want me to stay?" asked Bellatrix deviously, her fingers expertly undoing the buttons on his trousers.

"I want more than that," replied Evan, angrily forcing Bellatrix on to the bed below, her toned legs wrapping around his bare back in a vice-like grip.

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there watching his friend and brother trading curses with each other. Rodolphus was completely outmatched, outclassed and inevitably outdone by the Russian wizard who was coming up with curses even Rabastan had never heard of. The elder Lestrange could feel his eyes darting around the crowd in a vain attempt to locate the whereabouts of Bellatrix Black; she was nowhere to be found. There was something interesting, however, that did catch Rabastan's eye; the sight of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black in a rather passionate embrace on one of the many balconies lining the Lestrange mansion. He smiled to himself as he realised his long-standing suspicions had been confirmed... Malfoy would be hard pushed to live this down.

"_Sectumsempra!_" roared Dolohov; a flash of purple light hurtled from his wand at the defenceless Rodolphus.

"AAAAARGHHHHHHH!"

The sight of the purple light and the pained scream of his younger brother shook the eldest Lestrange from his preoccupied thoughts. Rodolphus was sprawled out on the ground, a gaping gash on his forearm. He was bleeding profusely, his dress robes darkening with a torrent of crimson. Rabastan could see Dolohov raising his wand, to finish his opponent off, to punish his insolence...

"That's enough!" shouted Rabastan, pushing Dolohov's wand hand down whilst fixing him with a warning stare. Rabastan's impossibly green eyes then turned to his brother, his face paling from loss of blood. "In Merlin's name Rodolphus."

"Where's Bella?" croaked Rodolphus, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

"Just shut up and be quiet," warned Rabastan as he removed his wand. "_Vigoratus_."

"CIRCE RABASTAN!" snarled Rodolphus, his face contorted in pain as the healing spell began to knit his flesh painfully back together. He looked down at his arm, his breath hissing between his teeth; the very fibres of his skin were fusing together.

"Next time you decide to act all bravado don't expect my help," cautioned Rabastan, his wand threateningly poised at his brother chest. "And in response to your last question, no I don't know where Bellatrix is, she walked off. In future I'd watch your tongue."

"She deserved it," sneered Rodolphus, further wincing at the pain that continued to burn at his arm.

"You'll never learn, will you?" spat Rabastan, drawing himself up to his full height. "This immaturity you harbour will be your undoing; mark my words, brother."

Dolohov watched as Rabastan strode off, his wand tensely at his side, his cool green eyes ablaze with disgust and indignation. The Russian could completely understand why; the youngest Lestrange's immaturity and ambition would certainly constitute to his downfall, however... he could be useful. He had a substantial knowledge of curses and his prejudices would be more than suitable for the dark times that lay ahead.

There had been whispers, rumours, that a new Darkness grew, a Darkness intent on bringing the muggle world to its knees. For years Dolohov had searched in vain for this elusive wizard, the one they called Lord Voldemort. He would find him and when he did he would pledge his allegiance to the new Dark Lord. A cruel smile broke out across the attractive features of the wizard as he thought of the murders he had committed and how they had made him feel _alive, _so _alive._

"I think you might have an admirer," croaked Rodolphus hoarsely, his head gesturing over to a group of girls. "An unwanted one by the looks of things."

Antonin brought his eyes down to Rodolphus; pocketing his wand, he offered a hand to the injured wizard. The younger wizard gratefully accepted, hissing at a pain that shot through his side... it seemed that the _reducto_ curse had done a fair amount of damage too.

"You vill excuse me then," replied Antonin, clapping a hand on his opponent's shoulder. "Oh, you might vant to get your ribs looked at; even though it didn't hit you fully, the _reducto_ curse vill haf fractured them."

"Great," muttered Rodolphus, noticing how painful it was for him to draw breath. "I'll bear that in mind."

"Saffron Parkinson, I believe?" started Antonin, his dark eyes fixed on her own brown ones.

Rodolphus was right. She wasn't exactly the type of girl one would actually want as an admirer, but right now the Russian wasn't fussed. The duel and the events with Bellatrix from earlier had given him a thirst, an insatiable thirst that he needed to quench. The only thing that recommended this girl to Antonin was her pureblood status and that fact that she was probably still a virgin – two 'admirable' qualities.

"May I?" smiled Dolohov as he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it.

"That magic," gasped Saffron, surprised by Antonin's forwardness, "it was extraordinary."

"I assure you," laughed Dolohov at the girl's innate naivety, "it's not just my magic that's extraordinary." Offering his arm to the young Slytherin girl, "Shall we?"

* * *

She didn't know where she was, all she knew was that she was surrounded by people in dark robes, their faces concealed by masks. She could see the glittering of their eyes, eyes tainted by murder and destruction. Even though their faces were concealed, she knew exactly who they were, their voices so familiar... so familiar that she wanted to call out to them. There was someone else there, someone kneeling amongst the others... She could feel herself walking towards the kneeling figure, watching it get up and turn around to face her. A pale hand pulled back the hood and removed the mask, but it wasn't who she thought it was. The youth had blonde hair, short not long like his, and his eyes more blue than grey_. I know you... I know..._ She reached out to stroke the youth's face, to embrace him, to love him, but a cruel harsh laughter reverberated about the room as her hand fell through the apparition.

The ground... the ground was moving.

The ground was alive! Snakes. There were countless snakes slithering over each other, coiling about her feet, winding their way up her naked legs. She wanted to fight them off; she wanted to stop their coldness on her flesh. The laughter came from behind her now, cold, menacing; as she turned to confront the darkness, a pair of red eyes flashed open. _I see you... Narcissa **BLACK!**_

Narcissa woke up with a start, her skin veiled with a cold sweat. Those eyes... they were like the eyes of a snake but reddened with blood. Who did they belong to? Turning over, she found that she was alone... Lucius had left. _Did you expect any less?_ Reaching out to touch the sheets, her hand was met with an unwelcome coldness... he had left a long time ago.

_He had carried her into the bedroom that night, her dress creased beyond repair, but she didn't care. She just wanted to be with him one last time before he left for what could inevitably be forever. After he lowered her down, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his, kissing him, feeling the way his hands ran over her body. It was an intoxicating experience, one that she knew she would sorely miss._

_She broke the embrace, "Unzip me?"_

"_With pleasure," smiled Lucius. "This dress truly is more trouble than its worth."_

"_But it had the desired effect," teased Narcissa, shimming out of the dress allowing it to drop to the floor._

"_It certainly did," whispered Lucius as he pulled Narcissa towards him, feeling the soft curves of her body under his hand._

_Narcissa ran her hands through Lucius' now dishevelled hair as their kiss deepened. She didn't care anymore, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and be with him, feel him, share this experience with him._

"_Lucius, I-,"_

"_Sssh," he whispered, gently lying her down on the bed below. "No words."_

_Pulling his rather expensive dress robes over his head, he discarded them on top of Narcissa's now redundant gown. Lying down next to her, he pulled her close to him, his hand combing through her blonde tresses. They looked into one another's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, not caring what the future had in store for them, only caring about what mattered now._

_She was so beautiful lying there looking at him with those forget-me-not eyes. He wanted her so much it was beyond belief, but something had stopped him. Lucius felt himself laugh inside, what was wrong with him? He really didn't know what had stopped him; surely sex would have been the inevitable conclusion to this whirlwind romance? But something about 'doing it' just didn't feel right. Narcissa wasn't like those others who had jumped straight into bed with him; she had used her intelligence and manipulation skills, she had impressed him... she deserved more than them._

"_Knut for your thoughts?" asked Narcissa, tucking some of his blonde hair behind his ear._

"_I don't think a knut will be sufficient enough," replied Lucius, his hand rubbing her back. "In fact, I think my thoughts are completely priceless."_

_Did this mean he had fears too? Fears that he didn't want to voice? The same fears that she was experiencing? She felt herself laugh inside, Lucius Malfoy, have 'fears'? That just wasn't possible, right? Smiling, Narcissa watched as Lucius' eyes began to close, translucent veils hiding the steely grey depths beneath._

_He didn't like falling asleep in front of people; it was the one thing that made him feel completely exposed. He was usually the one who waited until everyone else was asleep before allowing himself to enter into that subconscious realm. However with Narcissa it was different; her silence told him that it was okay, okay to sleep and okay to let go._

_Narcissa watched the man lying next to her for what seemed like hours, listening to his breathing, slow and steady. Occasionally his brow would furrow and she wondered what he was dreaming, whether he was having a nightmare or something else. She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, smooth his brow and take away his troubles, but she stayed her hand. She couldn't bring herself to wake him and drag him back to the reality that they both faced. Turning over, she looked out of the double doors; the stars were fading, drowned out by the moon's cold, incandescent glow. It was in this moment of peaceful solitude that Narcissa felt a strong arm loop around her waist, pulling her close. Sinking into his close embrace, Narcissa placed her own hand over his, intertwining her fingers with his own._

"_I love you," mouthed Narcissa silently, feeling the words form and then disappear into insignificancy._

She felt alone, not just in the physical sense, but emotionally. She had done something she never thought herself capable of: she had fallen in love. However this 'love' that she felt hurt, it wasn't a blissful state of euphoria, it was painful and lonely. Narcissa felt herself reaching across for the pillow that lay next to her, inexplicably craving even the slightest trace of Lucius's presence. However her hand didn't meet the crisp cotton that she expected, but the rough touch of parchment. Within seconds Narcissa had pulled herself into a sitting position cradling the wax-sealed envelope in her hands.

She felt her fingers trace the waxen seal of the Malfoy family; the snakes of the coat-of-arms reminded her of the snakes she had seen in her dream, intertwined, their fangs exposed. Curiosity, or rather desperation, caused the young Black to rip open the envelope removing the contents from inside. There was a letter, but there was something else too... Unfolding the second bit of parchment, her eyes widened as she looked at a mirror image of herself etched out in charcoal. It was beautiful, something that she knew she would treasure, the only sentimentality she would ever indulge in. Placing the picture in front of her, she unfolded the letter admiring Lucius' elegant script, her eyes devouring every word...

_Narcissa,_

_By the time you read this I will already have left for my father's house to finalise details for my departure. However, I promised you answers, answers to questions I know you have longed to have concluded. They are the truth, something I know you think I am incapable of, but I hope for once you will believe me and listen, not to your pride, but to your feelings._

_Bellatrix has played you false. She has fed you lies pertaining to the 'relationship' she professes we have. No such relationship exists and nor will it; this is not because of any 'loyalty' I have towards Lestrange, it is rather, shall we say, a matter of pride. Surely you of all people know of your sister's 'reputation', a reputation that does little to endear her to me. Bellatrix is a devout Slytherin and a promising scholar of the Dark Arts – no doubt this will carry her far. However, beyond a working relationship, we have no ties. I hope this is a sufficient enough answer to satisfy you._

_Narcissa, I will not lie to you. I will not promise that I will owl you every day and I cannot promise you I will ever come back. If you know me at all, you know I am not of the sentimental disposition, although your portrait may be the only exception to that rule. One day my father will arrange my marriage, as will yours and we will be wed to different people. They will not know us or care for anything other than our blood yet that is the world we were born into, a world we will accept._

_Why not end this now you may ask? Indeed, it would seem the most logical course of action to take, but something stops me... something I cannot explain. I believe that I am not the only one suffering from this affliction, this unwillingness to disregard, dare I say it, 'us'. It is folly, sheer madness, but it is a madness I am at pains to part with. _

_I cannot promise a future for us, our paths will inevitably divide again just as they have already, but know this – I will never forget you and I know you will never forget me. So, until we next meet again Narcissa Black, farewell and know that you will forever be in my thoughts._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Clutching the letter tightly in her hands, Narcissa felt herself roll on to her side, bringing her knees up to her chest before allowing the cruelness of reality to finally crash over her, breaking through her impenetrable barriers with the greatest of ease.

* * *

_Chapter 13, unlucky for some, is probably my favourite chapter... I think I say that about most of my chapters lol. I had the best fun writing it in between various evil exams. I will stick to canon so don't worry about Lucius and his whole leaving Hogwarts thing. I hope everyone is relatively I.C., its difficult with cold characters like Narcissa and Lucius so I hope I've done them justice. As always feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks for your continued support and Chapter 14 should be up within the next two weeks, hopefully sooner._


	14. Chapter 14: Don't Forget Me

_Ok, I __think__ this is the penultimate chapter so only one more after this. This chapter kinda ties up the loose ends (she hopes) and is a tad more general than the last few chapters. Thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter; I'm glad you all liked it. Anyway, here's Chapter 14 (sniffs). _Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 14:.**

Narcissa Black didn't know how long she had been asleep for when the Lestrange's house elf entered her guest room. Her hands were still painfully clutched around the letter that Lucius had left before his abrupt and silent departure. Her soulful blue eyes opened to the sight of the house elf, its skinny fingers pulling at the frays on its dirty tunic.

"Miss Black," began the elf, its saucer-like eyes blinking uncontrollably. "Master tells me your portkey is ready."

"I will be ready," mumbled Narcissa, turning away from the house elf.

"Master knows," replied the elf, bowing before scuttling out of the door.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she felt oddly light-headed and lethargic as if some unknown ailment had suddenly assailed her since Lucius had left. She clutched at her chest feeling the dull pain reinforcing its cage around her heart. Was this burden never to leave her? Was she to carry this burgeoning pain forever?

Summoning her day robes towards her from her travel case, she changed swiftly before walking over to the dressing table. She couldn't remember allowing herself to cry, but as she looked in the mirror, she could see her eyes were bloodshot, the rims red. Narcissa felt overcome by both shame and anger; how could she have succumbed so easily to this emotional weakness? As she applied concealer to hide the red rings, Narcissa vowed to steel herself against these unbidden emotional outpourings, outpourings that spoiled her beauty and made her feel weak.

Smoothing out the imaginary creases in her robes, Narcissa turned from the mirror, casting one last look over her guest bedroom, her mind flooding with memories from the night before. So much had changed yet so much still remained the same; Evan and her were no more, that much was different, but she was still alone – a feeling that she would be hard pushed to ever rid herself of.

* * *

Rabastan Lestrange mechanically bid his guests' farewell, his mind still reeling from what could only be described as shock.

"Send my regards to your wife, Mr. Macnair," nodded Rabastan, the words spilling from his mouth without so much as a second thought. "See you at school, Avery."

The last of the guests were disappearing, taken homewards by the serpentine portkeys the Lestrange's provided. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the lithe figure of the youngest Black sister. There was something different about her though, something that could only be described as a _hollowing_. She looked even colder now than she had ever done before. _She's read it..._

"Narcissa," called Rabastan, watching her about to touch the portkey in front of her.

"Yes?" replied Narcissa, her hand poised in mid air.

"Are you well?" asked Rabastan, noticing just how pallid her complexion was.

"Yes," smiled Narcissa, looking as if her face would crack at any moment. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I think you know the reason why," replied Rabastan, a grimace crossing his face.

"I-," she began, but stopped herself. "It is for the best," she concluded weakly.

"Perhaps," resigned Rabastan, shaking his head in disbelief.

A silence passed between the two Slytherins as their thoughts, no doubt, recalled the memories each had of the Malfoy heir – memories that would in time either strengthen or disappear, buried into a deep subconscious.

"I must go," began Narcissa abruptly. "My father will be expecting me, and I-,"

"I know," interrupted Rabastan, stepping back from her, allowing her to take her portkey, allowing her to escape.

"Goodbye," whispered Narcissa before touching the portkey and disappearing before the eldest Lestrange's eyes.

"Goodbye," muttered Rabastan to the empty space in front of him.

Slumping down into the nearest chair, Rabastan removed his glasses massaging the bridge of his nose in silent contemplation. The final conversation he had with Lucius ran through his mind over and over, inescapable.

"_You are off early," called a voice from the other side of the now deserted ballroom._

_Lucius turned around, his travelling cloak catching on the breeze, his grey eyes falling on the eldest Lestrange. He had wanted to leave early, to allow people to draw their own conclusions, but he knew that Rabastan would be able to see through any lie he threw at him._

"_I have urgent business to discuss with my father," replied Lucius, walking towards his friend._

"_So urgent you would leave the company of a certain Narcissa Black?" smiled Rabastan, a knowing look spreading across his face._

"_How did you-,"_

"_So, you don't deny it?" challenged Rabastan, a triumphant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth; he had known all along._

"_No," replied Lucius, an obstinate look crossing his face. "But it is of little import now."_

"_What do you mean?" questioned Rabastan. He knew Lucius was fickle when it came to relationships, but Rabastan had never seen Lucius so, apparently, enamoured with one person._

"_I hadn't planned on disclosing why," sighed Lucius, sitting down on one of the extravagant armchairs. "It is not something I have pleasure divulging."_

"_You don't have a choice now," countered Rabastan, sitting opposite him, his fingers steepled._

"_I'm leaving, Rabastan," began Lucius, hating the feeling of those words. "Leaving for Durmstrang. It is for that reason that my feelings towards Narcissa Black are of little importance."_

"_I assume you have at least told her," spoke Rabastan, the shock of his friend's leaving evident on his face._

"_Of course," replied Lucius. "I'm cruel, but not that cruel."_

"_How did she take it?" questioned Rabastan softly._

"_I don't know," replied Lucius, fingering the silver buttons on his cloak. "I was hoping you might help me with that."_

"_What do you mean?" countered Rabastan. "You either told her, or you didn't!"_

"_I wrote her a letter," sighed Lucius, knowing that he sounded more sentimental than practical._

"_A letter?" scoffed Rabastan. "How romantic of you, Malfoy."_

"_I don't need your sarcasm right now, Lestrange," snarled Lucius, standing up from his seat. "I need you to keep an eye out for me."_

_Sensing his friend's anger, Rabastan knew that sarcasm was probably not the best course of action to take with Lucius. Rising from his seat, Rabastan clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder._

"_What would you have me do?" enquired Rabastan earnestly._

"_I want you to watch her for me," replied Lucius in a matter-of-fact way. "I want to know she is..." but something made him stop._

"_You want to know she is okay?" concluded Rabastan, surprised at his friend's concern for someone other than himself._

"_Amongst other things, yes," admitted Lucius, running a hand carelessly through his hair, "but, I want her kept in the dark."_

"_I don't understand what you mean," said Rabastan, his green eyes narrowing. "What does she need to be kept in the dark about?"_

"_If she asks about me, tell her you know nothing. I want your silence," began Lucius. "Challenging times lie ahead, Rabastan; you know of whom I speak."_

"_Voldemort," muttered Rabastan, more to himself than his friend. The name felt sacred on his tongue, a holy word not to be taken lightly._

"_I would not have her know about our search for him," continued Lucius, his face growing stern, "not until the time is right; a time that I will decide."_

"_Very well," nodded Rabastan, unsure of the reasoning behind his friend's motives._

"_This is farewell then, Lestrange," smiled Lucius, the stern look melting away. "I will inform Eltanin that I have chosen you to replace me as Quidditch Captain."_

"_Until next time then," replied Rabastan, the feeling of disbelief still apparent._

"_Until next time," concluded Lucius before touching the portkey, disappearing into nothingness._

* * *

Opening her bedroom door, Narcissa allowed her travelling cloak to drop carelessly to the floor. She sat motionless on the edge of her bed, staring vacantly at her reflection in the dressing table mirror opposite her. Her hands were still tightly wrapped around the letter; she wanted to let go, but she couldn't... it was almost as if this piece of parchment was a lifeline for her. The sound of footsteps on the stairs signalled to Narcissa that her sister had finally returned, alone by the sounds of things.

She didn't know why, but Narcissa felt herself stand up and walk to the door. She could hear Bellatrix humming to herself in her bedroom as she knocked on the bedroom door. Narcissa didn't even give her sister a chance to reply before throwing the door open, allowing it to crash into the wall.

"Yes?" questioned Bellatrix, a smile emblazoned across her face.

"You told him didn't you?" replied Narcissa, closing the bedroom door behind her. "You told Evan."

"Oh, Cissa," giggled Bellatrix sweetly, tossing her hair behind her shoulders, "I did more than that."

"What do you mean?" spat Narcissa, her head awash with anger.

"Oh, don't play naïve with me Cissa, it doesn't suit you," snarled Bellatrix, sensing the angry tone in her younger sister's voice. "Don't you want to know what you missed out on with Evan?"

Narcissa couldn't believe what she was hearing, Bellatrix had gone too far this time, and for some asinine reason the thought of Evan sleeping with Bellatrix hurt her. She didn't know why she felt this way, why Evan's actions would have any effect on her confused her. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that in a 'normal' world, her and Evan would have worked out, they would have had a 'normal' relationship. However, Narcissa knew that she was destined never to have a 'normal' relationship; she was always destined to be alone.

"I-I just can't believe what I'm hearing," replied Narcissa, shaking her head in abject disbelief. "Don't you ever get tired of interfering in other people's business?!"

"What?" spat Bellatrix, her dark eyes blazing with anger. "Don't you think he had the right to know you were playing around?"

"I could ask you the same question," snarled Narcissa, her fists balled at her sides. "I'm sure Rodolphus deserves to know about you."

"What did you say?" countered Bellatrix, pacing towards her sister.

"You know what I said," whispered Narcissa, venom seeping from each word. "Besides it doesn't matter anymore; nothing does."

"What do you mean?" questioned Bellatrix, unsure of the meaning behind her sister's words. This defeatist attitude was unbecoming of her sister – Bellatrix secretly hoped for the worst.

"Lucius has left Hogwarts," replied Narcissa matter-of-factly, her fingers brushing against the parchment in her pocket.

"You're lying," sneered Bellatrix, refusing to believe her sister's obvious insincerity.

"Oh, I bet you wish I were," smiled Narcissa defiantly. "He's gone, but before he left he told me all about your 'relationship.' Oh yes, he told me Bellatrix, all about the relationship you made up."

"You expect me to believe you?" spat Bellatrix, denying the fact that what her sister was true.

"No Bellatrix," replied Narcissa calmly. "I don't expect you to believe me because I already know that you do. It's written all over your face."

Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open at the venom that clung to each of her sister's words – venom that she didn't know her sister could harbour.

"Get out," whispered Bellatrix, her hand grasping at the wand in her robes.

"You lost Bellatrix," jeered Narcissa, channelling her grief and loneliness into pure poison.

"GET OUT!" screeched Bellatrix, her wand now in her hand.

"What does it feel like to lose for once?" continued Narcissa, ignoring her sister's anger.

"GET OUT! JUST GET OUT!" screamed Bellatrix, her wand pointed squarely at Narcissa's heart.

Narcissa looked calmly at her sister's rage-filled face, hearing the ragged rise and fall of her breath escaping from her lips. She could feel Bellatrix's yew wand pressing deeply into her skin through the covering of her robes.

"Aren't you happy now, Bella?" whispered Narcissa hoarsely, her blue eyes never breaking contact with her sister's own black ones.

Pushing her sister's wand down, away from her chest, Narcissa felt for the door handle behind her – she had said what she had come to say, she had watched her sister fall from her devious throne. Turning from her sister, Narcissa swiftly opened the door, slamming it hard behind her.

For some reason, by the time Narcissa reached her own bedroom, she was shaking all over, the silent rage still coursing through her. Delving into her robes, she brought out the two pieces of parchment and looked at them for what could possibly have been the hundredth time. However, the silence that surrounded Narcissa was short-lived as the sudden sound of glass smashing against a wall accompanied by an enraged scream pierced the air.

"You loved him too," whispered Narcissa to the emptiness of her room, "didn't you, Bella?"

Narcissa could have sworn she heard angry sobs coming from her sister's room, but they were abruptly cut short whether by a silencing charm or perhaps because Bellatrix had realised this outpouring was a sure sign of weakness. It gave Narcissa a strange feeling of satisfaction as she heard the glass smash against the wall; Bellatrix had lost, for once in her life things had not gone according to her elaborate plan. In fairness though, neither Black sister had won, they had both lost; with Lucius gone perhaps now they were finally on some kind of equal footing.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy felt a slight smile flutter across her lips as she thought of the many memories she harboured from her time at Hogwarts. Looking down at the picture she still grasped of her son, she felt her smile diminish slightly as she remembered her dream from all those years ago. It made more sense to her now, the people in hoods were Death Eaters, the red eyes were those of the Dark Lord, but why had her son been there too; was he destined to be tied to this fate?

Sitting the frame back in its original place, Narcissa reached down, opening the bottom drawer of her dressing table. It had been many years since she had beheld the memories she longed to find – memories of great importance. Removing the contents of the bottom drawer, her fingers ran along the edges, feeling for the notch that allowed her to open the secret compartment that lay beneath. Finding the notch, she lifted up the fake bottom to reveal the hidden compartment; amidst the dust and potion bottles lay two pieces of tattered, well-thumbed pieces of parchment. Unfolding the parchment, she laid each piece on her dressing table; Narcissa noticed how Lucius' handwriting had begun to fade, but the words themselves losing none of their original potency. She felt her cobalt eyes linger longer on the charcoal portrait; it portrayed a delicate youthfulness, a smooth brow not one laden with the troubles and cares she carried now. Narcissa felt herself grow angry as she looked at it; time had truly stolen away her innocence and replaced it with something else, something far less desirable.

Replacing her two most treasured items in their safe hiding place, Narcissa glanced down at the wedding ring that adorned her ring finger. It was true that she had never forgotten Lucius during their years apart as much as she tried. He was forever in her thoughts just as he himself had predicted and once again, just as he predicted, she heard nothing from him throughout those lonely years. Narcissa remembered how his closest friend at Hogwarts, Rabastan Lestrange, was equally as secretive as to what his friend was up to and who exactly he was associating with...

* * *

It was the last day of the school year and Narcissa Black, a fourth year Slytherin, sat underneath the shade of the large oak tree that lay by the lake. An exasperated sigh escaped from her perfect lips as she reflected back on the day's events; as usual it had been chaos in the Slytherin common room with a leaving party being thrown for the departing seventh years. It was also at this leaving party that Augustus Rookwood asked her out for the fourth time that year and for the fourth time, Narcissa turned him down. She knew she should be entertaining the idea of dating other people, especially because the day she graduated from Hogwarts she knew her father would begin looking for a suitable fiancé for her to marry.

Leaning her golden head against the sturdy trunk of the oak, she closed her cerulean eyes, allowed her thoughts to linger on _him_, the one person she would gladly spend the rest of her life with. Perhaps this was the real reason why she couldn't entertain the thought of dating others... it felt like unfaithfulness on her part.

"I thought I might find you here," came a mature voice.

Opening her eyes, Narcissa's gaze fell on the tall frame of Rabastan Lestrange pacing across the grounds towards her. His hair was flecked with emerald green confetti from the party, confetti shaped into the Slytherin sigil.

"May I?" asked Rabastan, gesturing to the grassy seat beside her.

"Of course," replied Narcissa, moving the skirt of her robes to allow the seventh year to sit down.

Both of them sat in silence looking out across the calm lake, the occasional flash of a mermaid's tale breaking the surface and then disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Rabastan felt himself release a gentle sigh into the still air before turning to face the younger girl beside him.

"How are you?" inquired Rabastan, his bespectacled green eyes never leaving Narcissa's perfect face.

"Fine," retorted Narcissa more abruptly than necessary. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"It has been over a year, Cissa," came the gentle reply.

"Has it? It must have slipped my mind," lied Narcissa, but if truth be told, a day hadn't gone by without the young Slytherin devoting some portion of her day to the memory of Lucius Malfoy.

"You don't have to lie to me, Cissa," eased Rabastan, noticing the tenseness that racked her body language.

"What makes you think I'm lying?" shot back Narcissa, her blue eyes narrowing under Rabastan's scrutiny.

"The fact that you haven't denied lying," sighed Rabastan, resting his head on the trunk of the tree. "I know you aren't weak. Don't think that telling the truth makes you so."

Narcissa felt herself look away from the seventh year, her eyes focusing on her pale hands that lay in her lap. Rabastan's words resounded in her mind; telling the truth was far harder than lying, at least lying meant that it didn't have to hurt anymore. Lying meant that she could bury her pain without having to acknowledge to others that it existed.

"You are working at the Romanian Ministry of Magic once you have graduated, are you not?" questioned Narcissa off topic, her eyes once again meeting those of the eldest Lestrange.

"I am," nodded Rabastan, "with Dolohov, but you know this."

"I know that you are hiding something from me," replied Narcissa defiantly. "Both you and Antonin."

"I don't know what you mean," lied Rabastan, his eyes never breaking contact with her own.

"I'm not a child anymore Rabastan," continued Narcissa, her voice strong and clear. "You can't expect me to believe you have heard nothing from Lucius."

It was Rabastan's turn to break eye contact this time, his green eyes looking out over the lake once more. How could he tell her of Lucius' associations? How could he tell her of the darkness that had begun to take hold, the same darkness that had begun to consume Rabastan himself?

"You know something," whispered Narcissa, placing a hand on Rabastan's arm, "don't you?"

"He has other friends now, friends at Durmstrang. I hear as much from him as you do," replied Rabastan, his brow creasing at the falsity of his words. Were they real friends, or mere disciples of the same cause?

"Your lies are as transparent as Rodolphus'," concluded Narcissa, removing her gentle touch from Rabastan's arm.

Rabastan felt himself smile weakly whilst pushing his glasses further up his nose. He wasn't at liberty to say anymore, he had a promise to uphold to Lucius. Soon enough the two old friends would be reunited again, reunited under the same cause, the same banner, the same Lord... A sudden movement from Narcissa interrupted his thoughts as he saw a folded piece of parchment materialise from inside her robes.

Knowing that she wouldn't get any more information from the seventh year, Narcissa pressed the parchment into Rabastan's hand. "I was hoping you might give Lucius as message from me," began Narcissa, folding his hand about the letter knowing that this would be the only way she could forget. "Tell him to forget, and tell him-,"

"Ssssh. These are words that **you** need to say," interrupted Rabastan shaking his head, "not me."

Placing the tattered parchment back into its owner's hands, Rabastan leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on Narcissa's forehead. This brotherly display of affection was accompanied with a flash of melancholy – how little she knew of Lucius' life now and perhaps, as Lucius said, it was best that way, for he would tell her when the time was right.

"I will write you," smiled Rabastan, placing his hand over hers. "If I hear anything, you will be the first to know."

Narcissa watched as the seventh year took his leave, his long strides carrying the truth of Lucius' life further away from her. Rabastan would never disclose to her the secrets that surrounded Lucius' life at Durmstrang, nor would he divulge the murder and darkness that the wizard had embarked on to gain favour with the Dark Lord himself; for those were secrets too close to Rabastan's own heart to be made known to anything other than his own inner conscience.

Rabastan never did write to Narcissa, nor did he ever intend to. For years she was kept in the dark just as Lucius wanted, unbeknownst to the wizard's actions. Occasionally his name would pop up swiftly followed by the name of a fellow Durmstrang wizard, Igor Karkaroff. However, no further information was ever divulged... not even by her own sister, Bellatrix. Ever since that fateful morning after the Lestrange Ball, their relationship had been volatile at best; even more so when her sister revealed to her younger sister the pathway she had chosen.

Narcissa could remember all the rumours and whispers about the Dark Lord and his followers, the Death Eaters. Her father was very much a staunch supporter of Lord Voldemort. Although not deigning to become a Death Eater himself, Cygnus Black watched from the shadows. It was therefore not surprising to Narcissa when her sister barged into her bedroom, a satisfied grin emblazoned across her face.

Narcissa was just about to start her sixth year at Hogwarts when she found out that her sister had taken the Mark. Bellatrix, no longer a Hogwarts student, had been embroiled in the Dark Arts and underground meetings from her sixth year, but more so now... now that she didn't have Dumbledore to answer to.

"What do you think?" asked Bellatrix, rolling up her sleeve to show the Dark Mark seared into her sallow flesh.

"I am proud of you, of course," replied Narcissa at a loss for any other words. "Have you told Father?"

"Of course," sighed Bellatrix, her dark eyes rolling at her sister's stupidity. "He was most pleased."

Narcissa let her eyes linger on the Dark Mark of Voldemort – the skull with the snake protruding from his mouth. So she had finally done it; she had finally become a Death Eater. Narcissa felt words of subconscious concern fall from her mouth as her eyes lingered on every contour.

"Are you sure about this life, Bella?" murmured Narcissa, not entirely sure why she had uttered such words.

"What do you mean am I sure?!" retorted Bellatrix, rolling down her sleeve whilst looking at her sister with indignation. "The Dark Lord is the only way, the only life and the only person I will ever serve!"

Bellatrix placed a protective hand over where the tattoo of the Dark Mark lay, concealed underneath her robe sleeve.

"I'm not afraid to die for this," whispered Bellatrix, a glint of insanity burning in her darkening eyes. "None of us are."

"Us?" replied Narcissa, looking at her sister with a growing confusion in her eyes.

"Our numbers are greater than you could possibly imagine, dear Cissa," smiled Bellatrix, her grin twitchy and strange. "The muggle world will be brought to its knees, the mudbloods will fall and all those who dare to protect them will look death pleadingly in the eye!"

"Who else has joined?" asked Narcissa, Bellatrix's screechy words reverberating around her mind. "Who?"

"Not that it concerns you," began Bellatrix, "but more than you could imagine. Rodolphus, Rabastan, Rosier, Dolohov..."

Everyone... everyone had taken up the Dark Lord's cause. Narcissa felt her mind linger on thoughts of Lucius – had he too decided on this fate? With Rabastan Lestrange joining Voldemort's ranks, it was only natural that his best friend would follow suit. Breaking her blue eyes away from her sister's, Narcissa stared out of her window half expecting to see dark clouds gathering over the Black manse.

"What concerns me," continued Bellatrix, standing between Narcissa and her view of the outside, "is why you haven't joined the Dark Lord's noble cause."

"I support the Dark Lord," replied Narcissa, repeating the words that had been drummed into her, "I support him with my very soul. His way will bring purity to the wizarding world and rid us of the unclean filth; his way is the final, and only, solution."

Narcissa met her sister's eyes, hoping that her fervour would distract her sister from the fact that she had danced around her question. Narcissa didn't join the ranks, not because she was afraid of death or being caught, but because of something else, some other purpose she felt she had yet to serve. She couldn't pledge her loyalty the way Bellatrix could, all she could do was watch... watch as the Dark Lord purged the world of undesirable mudbloods, leaving in his wake a trail of death and destruction. Staring at her window once more, she swore she could see the silhouette of the Dark Mark forming in the clouds and then disappearing as if it had never appeared.

* * *

_Hope you liked the chapter and don't worry! Lucius does make his return soon... well, considering this is most likely the penultimate chapter, he should be appearing in the final chapter. I'll try and make it extra long for all you loyal reviewers. Feel free to give me some feedback, praiseworthy and constructive are both welcome. Thanks again!_


	15. Chapter 15: 'Til The End Of Time

_A scThis is it chaps, the last chapter of 'Back to Black'... I think. I will most probably follow it up with an epilogue and I've had a request to start a Rabastan fic :D Not sure if there is a niche in the market for it, but it would be fun to do it either way. Thanks to all of you who have stuck by me throughout this fic – can't believe I was planning to keep it as a two-parter!! Oh, _**Serena van der Woodsen**, _I've made Lucius three years older than Narcissa; when she was in her 3__rd__ year(13), he was in his 6__th__(16). Hope that clears things up. Thanks, as always, have to go to my proofer Arami Heartilly whose encouragement and proofing has been wonderful glomps_Characters copyrighted to J.K. Rowling

* * *

**.:Chapter 15:.**

Bellatrix Black had been true to her pledge of allegiance to the Dark Lord, Voldemort, so true that her allegiance had led to a life sentence in the wizard prison, Azkaban. However, she would not be imprisoned alone... both Rabastan Lestrange and Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus Lestrange would also be accompanying her. Yes, they had indeed married; although it was hardly a marriage based on love more of a marriage of convenience, typical of most pureblood unions. Narcissa Black had been in her final year at Hogwarts when she received word that her sister and Rodolphus were to be married. Although she knew that Bellatrix was not capable of loving anyone, she felt there was more than just convenience on Rodolphus' part...

"Who comes to be joined together in the presence of the Goddess? What is thy name, O Man?" spoke the High Priestess, her cold voice cutting through the silence of the grand ballroom.

"My name is Rodolphus."

"Who comes to be joined together in the presence of the God? What is thy name, O Woman?" spoke another, the High Priest, his deep voice thick and intoxicating.

"My name is Bellatrix."

"Rodolphus and Bellatrix, we greet you with joy," continued the High Priestess, spreading her hands out in a welcoming gesture. "Unity is balance, and balance is unity. Hear then, and understand."

Narcissa Black felt herself emit the slightest sigh as she looked on at the two people in front of her, their right hands placed on top of each other, the ceremonial ribbon intricately binding their hands together. She couldn't remember how many handfasting ceremonies she had attended, but most of them had been far more _joyous_ than this. Allowing her eyes to break away from the couple in front of her, Narcissa observed the congregation of wizards that had gathered to honour this pureblood union; as her eyes searched the familiar faces they were met with a cool amber gaze from the other side of the ballroom. It took all of her pride and dignity not to break eye contact with the incredibly handsome features of the twenty year old Evan Rosier. His dark hair brushed against the lids of his eyes with a few longer bangs dusting his sharp cheekbones. Narcissa could feel the intensity of his gaze burning itself into the depths of her soul, but she remained steadfast...

"The sword I hold is the symbol of Fire," announced the High Priest causing Narcissa to rightfully return her attention to where it belonged. "Know and remember this is the element of Light, of energy, of the vigour which runs through our veins. By this sword of Fire, we bring to your handfasting the power of Will."

A feeling of discomfort crept up Narcissa's spine as she continued to observe the ceremony, the feeling of being undressed by a thousand different eyes. At nearly eighteen years old, the once young Narcissa Black had matured into a stunningly beautiful woman. Her trademark golden hair still lay long, however it was twisted up into an ornate style befitting of such a momentous occasion. Her features had also sharpened more, although not in an unattractive way – quite the opposite in fact.

"The wand I hold is the symbol of Air," intonated the High Priestess, touching the couple's hands with the point of the wand. "Know and remember that this is the element of Life, of intelligence, of the inspiration which moves us onwards. By this wand of Air, we bring to your handfasting the power of Mind."

Narcissa felt her mind wander on to the subject of her own wedding. Would her handfasting be as sombre an affair as her sister's? Would she be smiling rather than scowling? Would her guests' eyes carry the mark of bloodlust and murder too? She felt an uneasiness shoot through her as she thought on Evan Rosier's murderously cool, but intense gaze... he had seen Death and willingly joined his brutal rampage. It was then that she knew in the depths of her heart that her marriage would be just the same as Bellatrix's, not the dream wedding she had foolishly imagined almost five years ago; not the fairytale marriage with the one man she would willingly give everything to. She felt her eyes instantly search the ballroom once again as Lucius Malfoy's face passed into Narcissa's mind, but to no avail...

He had been watching her, concealed from sight, concealed from her, for now was still not the right time for them to meet again. She was indeed far more beautiful than she had been when he had departed for Durmstrang all those years ago. The elegant curve of her neck almost brought an unbidden smile to his lips, but something stopped him... Lucius Malfoy was not the same man he was before. His gloved hand clasped his left forearm protectively shielding the tattoo that lay beneath. After graduating from Durmstrang with a greater knowledge of the Dark Arts, Lucius had worked his way into the Dark Lord's inner circle, but this prize did not come without a cost... once, long ago, he had thought himself capable of feeling that emotion known as love, but now, under Lord Voldemort's tutelage, he felt nothing. Banishing ridiculous thoughts of love from his head, Lucius prowled between the guests, his appearance oblivious to them.

"By life and love, in the name of the Goddess, I, Rodolphus, take thee, Bellatrix, to my hand, my heart and my spirit, at the setting of the sun and the rising of the stars. Nor shall death part us; for in the fullness of time we shall be born again at the same time and in the same place as each other; and we shall meet, and know, and remember, and love again."

Lucius continued to pass through the guests as silent as a wraith, his shoes making no sound as they connected with the marble floor. The Dark Lord's powers were truly magnificent as Lucius found that with them he could cloak his presence at will. She was so close now, so close that he could make out the individual wisps of golden hair that graced the nape of her neck. With another step he could smell her intoxicating scent, winter roses mingled with the coldness of morning. He was so close now, he could almost reach out and touch her, turn her round and embrace her once again... as his gloved hand reached out, he felt something or someone stop him. _Yes Master, I understand... _

"Let the sun and the moon and the stars, and these our brothers and sisters, bear witness; that Rodolphus and Bellatrix have been joined together in the sight of the God and the Goddess. And may the God and the Goddess bless them, as we do ourselves."

Narcissa felt herself suddenly shudder all over as the High Priest's final words were spoken. It wasn't the finality of the words that caused this reaction, but the feeling of an unsettling presence behind her. Turning her head around, her blue eyes were met with the beetle-black ones of Severus Snape, a Slytherin fourth year. Giving him a wan smile, Narcissa turned back around again confused by the feeling she had suddenly experienced. Soon enough the feeling was pushed to the back of her mind as the newly wedded couple turned from the Priest and Priestess and began to make their way outside. Narcissa noticed the contrasting looks on both Rodolphus' and Bellatrix's face; Rodolphus' eyes were fixed plainly on his new bride, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, whilst Bellatrix looked straight ahead, her face cold and obstinate without the faintest trace of joy or happiness.

Narcissa watched as Bellatrix and Rodolphus jointly cut the handfasting cake, the last formal ceremony before the revelries of the evening could begin. A dozen marquees were set up, each decorated with the traditional black and green of the two houses bound by marriage, each one filled with an exquisite banquet. Narcissa had lost her appetite, the anticipation of even catching a glimpse of Lucius had put her off food and made her wish for time away from the crowd, time on her own. Sighing, she gently touched her father's elbow, drawing his attention to her.

"Yes?" replied Cygnus Black distractedly.

"Father, I am feeling rather unwell," lied Narcissa, her eyes respectfully turned to the floor. "With your leave, I wish to take a turn about the gardens. I believe a walk would restore me."

"Go," spoke her father coldly, his eyes turning back towards his newly married daughter. "You are not needed."

"You have my thanks, Father," replied Narcissa softly before pulling her cloak about her shoulders and walking to the gardens.

She had only walked a short distance away from the wedding guests when she felt the air grow heavy and oppressive, the type of air that precedes a storm. Looking up at the sky, she saw ominous thunderclouds reach out across the heavens to cover the weakened sun; she didn't know why, but Narcissa felt a strong sense of foreboding overcome her as she continued her walk down the gravel passage to the orchards. The walk was silent aside from the intermittent crunch of her shoes on the pathway; there was no bird song, no voices, nothing except her... or so she thought. There, leaning against the willowy trunk of an apple tree stood Evan Rosier, a red apple clutched in his left hand. Turning his eyes to the sudden crunch of gravel, Evan's gaze fell upon the stationary form of Narcissa Black.

"Hello Narcissa," spoke Evan genially, dropping the half eaten apple to the ground and approaching her. "I see I'm not the only one wanting some peace and quiet."

"Quite," replied Narcissa offhandishly. The idea of being alone with Evan made her feel uncomfortable not only because of their past, but for some other reason she couldn't yet discern. "I see that there are plenty of other gardens for me to visit; I will leave you to your solitude."

"Don't," began Evan, his hand stretched out towards her. "Don't feel you have to leave on my account."

"It would be for the best, don't you think?" questioned Narcissa, her eyebrow arched.

"The past is the past," replied Evan, his mouth curved into a handsome smile. "Let us talk about the future."

Narcissa studied his face, a sense of doubt still tugging at the back of her mind. Was this the same Evan Rosier who had ignored her throughout his remaining years at Hogwarts? The same Evan who refused to be alone in the same room as her? Tentatively approaching his gesture to sit down, Narcissa refused to break eye contact with him as she perched on the edge of the wrought iron bench. He truly had grown more handsome in appearance, his attractive features accentuated by an aura of temptation and mischief; some would indeed call him beautiful although perhaps not conventionally so.

"You are looking well," began Evan, his fathomless amber eyes fixed on her face.

"Thank you," replied Narcissa, wondering how long this obligatory politeness would continue for. "You also look very well."

"Your father must be extremely happy to have Rodolphus as a son-in-law," continued Evan, his smile fading slightly.

"Perhaps he finally is," returned Narcissa, thinking on her father's offish nature.

A few moments of tense silence passed between the two before Evan finally spoke, his eyes filled with an unnameable emotion.

"I can't do this," whispered Evan, edging closer towards her. "I just can't."

"Can't what?" replied Narcissa, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Keep up with this pretence!" retorted Evan passionately. "No matter how hard I try, I can't."

"I don't understand," began Narcissa, slightly edging away from Evan.

"To say I was happy when Lucius left Hogwarts would be an understatement," continued Evan. "I relished the thought of you being alone... without him."

"I thought you said this wasn't about the past," recalled Narcissa. "You said this was about the future."

"It is," replied Evan. "_Our _future."

"Evan, _we _do not have a future," spoke Narcissa, her eyes narrowing.

"I have never stopped loving you," confessed Evan, his eyes devouring her hungrily. "You won't be able to refuse me now; the Dark Lord has made me strong, given me powers you cannot possibly imagine. I've wanted you for so long Cissa... _so long_."

"I cannot and will not love you," retorted Narcissa, her mind reeling. "Your power holds no sway over me."

"Lucius will never come for you," spat Evan, grabbing her wrist to keep her from leaving. "You are nothing to him. He has forgotten you. Tell me Narcissa, has he ever once written to you since he left?"

Narcissa felt her mouth open in order to shout back at retort, but nothing came. It was true; he had never written to her, never even acknowledged her existence...

"No, I didn't think so," smiled Evan triumphantly, shifting himself closer to her once again. "Why do you cling so desperately to a memory?"

"I cling to nothing," snarled Narcissa, wrenching her hand away from Evan's grip.

"Marry me, Cissa," whispered Evan, his handsome face growing ever closer to her. "We will have the Dark Lord's blessing; he knows how important you are."

"I will never marry you," retorted Narcissa, shaking her head in complete disbelief. The slightest trace of trepidation laced her words as she thought on her 'importance' – why was she important to the Dark Lord?

Evan's face dropped, the smile disappearing, his scorching amber eyes narrowing in silent rage. How dare she refuse him once again? He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but she was pushing him to the extreme. All he wanted was her; he wanted to taste her, hold her, make her his. He could feel his emotions and desires boiling to the surface and before he could rationally comprehend what had happened, he had forcefully pulled Narcissa towards him, pressing his ravenous lips against her own. He could feel her resistance, but he didn't care; it was her resistance that made him even more impassioned.

"_Crucio!"_

From somewhere, Narcissa found the strength to push off the writhing form of Evan Rosier as he battled to fight off the Cruciatus curse that had struck him from some unknown whereabouts. She felt a satisfaction rise up within her as she wiped her lips whilst watching Evan scream madly on the gravel. However, there was someone else in the orchard, someone she couldn't see, or sense for that matter. Drawing her rosewood wand into her hand, she stepped over the prone figure of Evan Rosier, his body twitching, and made her way further into the orchard.

"Reveal yourself," demanded Narcissa, her wand held out in front of her.

It was a temptation he was finding hard to refuse, but as he reminded himself earlier the time wasn't right. Her close encounter with Rosier had given her a dishevelled look, strands of gold breaking free from their strict hold. Her lips were pursed into an angry, but not unattractive pout. It was then that Lucius Malfoy realised that the only things he could now admire were of a physical nature, but that was all that truly mattered in the end. Lucius couldn't stand seeing Rosier touch her skin, kiss her lips, all the anger he felt he had channelled into that one curse...

"You cannot hide forever," continued Narcissa, venturing deeper into the orchard.

_Not forever, but long enough..._

* * *

Narcissa knew that Bellatrix's marriage to Rodolphus was a complete sham on her part; she knew that her sister would only have eyes for one man. That one man wasn't Lucius, nor was it Evan, but the Dark Lord himself. Her loyalty and fervour to his cause had won her a place at his right hand, the first lady of the Death Eaters. As she had professed all those years ago, Lord Voldemort was her life; she would willingly die for him. No loyalty compared to the loyalty Bellatrix held towards the Dark Lord; blood, marriage, all paled in insignificance. Perhaps this was one of the reasons Bellatrix never had any children; either that or she had sacrificed the ability to procreate in order to attain a greater, more destructive power: the ability to bring death. It was well known that exceptional competence in the Dark Arts did not come without a heavy cost...

Bellatrix's handfasting ceremony was one of the last times Narcissa had seen her sister before her imprisonment in Azkaban; it was also the last time Narcissa would ever see Evan Rosier before his untimely death at the hands of Alastor Moody and his fellow Aurors. Although the Dark Lord promised a violent purge of the undesirable mudbloods and their protectors, there was so much death in the pureblood ranks that fearful rumours began to spread about the remaining longevity of the elite. The children of pureblood wizards were hastily married off to remaining pureblood heirs in the vain hope that the wizarding elite would live on. It was under these conditions that Narcissa had to deal with the Dark Lord's sway when meeting her potential husband for the first time. Narcissa Black would soon realise that intense loyalty to the Dark Lord was not reserved for Bellatrix alone...

* * *

This was it... her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were officially over. At eighteen years old, Narcissa Black had completed her N.E.W.Ts and passed them all with flying colours. Packing the last of her possessions into her trunk, Narcissa glanced around her dormitory one last time before descending the stairs to the Slytherin Common Room. The usual graduation party was in full swing with animated serpents slithering about the floor and the token confetti bursting in fireworks above her head. Narcissa found it hard not to suppress a smile as she looked on at the festivities. However, out of the corner of her eye she could see someone advancing on her, a nervous grin twitching on his round pock-marked face.

"H-hello there Narcissa," spoke Augustus Rookwood, the slightest hint of a stammer still impairing his speech.

"Augustus," smiled Narcissa sweetly, her real emotions concealed behind a mask of ice. "Congratulations, I heard you actually passed Potions."

"It surprised me too," replied Augustus, his mouth tightening at Narcissa's retort. "So, what are your plans after Hogwarts?"

"Whatever my father intends," sighed Narcissa, searching the room for some more interesting conversation.

"My father's secured me a job at the Ministry," began Rookwood pompously, his wormy lips twisting into a smug smile. "Department of Mysteries actually."

"How interesting," lied Narcissa, her blue eyes fixed on a dark haired youth chatting animatedly to Severus Snape. "If you'll excuse me."

"Oh," replied Rookwood in surprise. "Of course."

Narcissa rolled her eyes in silent tedium as she crossed the Common Room to converse with the youth that had caught her eye.

"Cissa," called the Slytherin second year, his dark eyes lighting up as he saw her. "Congratulations."

"Regulus," smiled Narcissa. "I see **you** are mixing with the right company unlike your brother."

"Oh, you know what Sirius is like," laughed Regulus, a hint of nervousness tainting his reply. "I'm sure he'll come round in the end."

"Oh I doubt it Regulus," interrupted Severus Snape, his black eyes flashing angrily. It was well know fact at Hogwarts that Snape detested Sirius Black and his best friend, James Potter. "Sirius Black will always be a mudblood sympathiser; I'm surprised you can still call him your brother."

"If he wasn't in Gryffindor..." pondered Regulus more to himself than any one else.

"Gryffindor or not he's always been _different_," concluded Narcissa, venom spiking her words. "Another bloodtraitor..."

"Mother says that too," murmured Regulus, biting his lower lip. "It's up to me to restore the family name. I know exactly what I'll-,"

"What we'll do," interrupted Snape, clapping a hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

"Yes," smiled Regulus. "What _we'll_ do."

"It's encouraging to see that you have some _direction_ in your life," replied Narcissa, nodding her head in approval. "I am sure Bellatrix will be most pleased with your decision."

"I hope so," said Regulus, his eyes dancing with pride. "I really do."

"Oh, I have no doubt," replied Narcissa genially.

Although Regulus Black was highly sycophantic and what some people would call 'soft', Narcissa knew that he would bring some semblance of pride to the other half of the Black family... Merlin knew they needed it. The moment Sirius Black had entered Hogwarts he had put every foot wrong much to the chagrin of his mother and the rest of the Black family. Although his friends were of well known pureblood families, he still insisted on denouncing his heritage by associating with the rest of the Gryffindor muck. Narcissa knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was blasted off the family tree, much like her sis-... much like Andromeda. In both cases, it was obvious to see just how far the apple had fallen from the tree.

* * *

Every day that passed since Narcissa Black finished Hogwarts felt like an eternity; she could almost feel the walls of her bedroom closing in on her slowly and painfully. Trapped, that was one way of describing it; caged up until her ageing father found a suitable husband for her to be married off to. It was then that Narcissa felt a pang of jealousy hit her as she thought on her fellow Slytherin peers. Her sister was a Death Eater bringing about the purification of the wizarding race as were her two brothers-in-law, Merlin, even Augustus Rookwood had found a career. Sometimes she wished for freedom, the same freedom Bellatrix had found, but then she stopped herself... Could she really give her life to such a cause? Was she then a coward for not joining? It felt ridiculous thinking on such matters, matters that didn't concern her. _Marry me, Cissa...We will have the Dark Lord's blessing; he knows how important you are. _It had been over eight months since Evan Rosier had proposed to her, telling her of her importance, of the Dark Lord's blessing. Perhaps the matters she thought ridiculous truly did concern her...

Resting her head against the windowpane, her deep blue eyes caught a glimpse of an advancing carriage pulling up the gravel driveway. Another one of her father's 'business' acquaintances, or perhaps a new suitor asking her father for her hand in marriage... either way this visitor didn't concern her. Throwing the heavy curtain across the grey landscape, she blocked out the view of the carriage failing to notice the family crest emblazoned on the carriage doors and the livery of the footmen. Seating herself at her desk, Narcissa summoned parchment and quill to hand preparing to pen a letter to one of her old acquaintances until Tippy, the wizened house elf, scuttled into her room.

"Miss Black, your father is wanting you," squeaked the elf, her scrawny body covered in bruises. "He is wanting you right aways!"

"Right," sighed Narcissa standing up from her desk and making for the door.

"No, Miss!" exclaimed the elf, her hand clapped over her mouth in shock. "You must dress!"

"Are you blind as well as useless?" sneered Narcissa, eyeing the house elf petulantly. "Can you not see I am already dressed?"

"Not that dress," continued the elf, now rifling through Narcissa's extensive wardrobe. "This one!"

Narcissa looked at the robes the house elf had pointed out; they were formal robes, robes one usually wore to an important, high-profile event. So, the day had finally come... waiting for her downstairs in her father's study was her future husband. Narcissa felt her heart turn to stone as she redressed into the dark fitted robes; her face had become ashen and her features vacant as she shielded herself behind a wall of ice. For five years she had prepared for the disappointment, she had repeated to herself time and time again that it was for the good of her family, but that faithful mantra had finally deserted her at the most crucial moment. With her wand, Narcissa absentmindedly whisked her hair up into a less informal style before finally looking at herself in the full-length mirror.

"Master will be most angry with Tippy if Miss does not hurry," whimpered the elf, knitting her spindly fingers anxiously.

"I am ready," said Narcissa haughtily, stowing her wand inside her robes. "Come."

Running her delicate hand down the banister, Narcissa descended the grand staircase, the sound of voices growing closer. No doubt they were discussing dowries and studying family trees - there was one thing she knew about her father and that was that he would never marry his daughters off to lesser houses. A growing feeling of nausea swelled up inside her as she approached her father's study, her hand poised to knock on the ebony door. Emitting a soft sigh, Narcissa rapped on the door the sound emanating about the corridor.

"Enter," came the rasping voice of Cygnus Black.

Pushing open the door, Narcissa felt her heart skip a beat as her widening cobalt eyes registered the tall, blonde haired man who stood looking out the study window.

"Narcissa," spoke her father, turning his ashen face towards her.

"You summoned me, Father?" inquired Narcissa, her voice calm and collected.

"I did," confirmed Cygnus, guiding his youngest daughter towards the centre of the room. "I would like for you to meet your future husband... Lucius Malfoy."

"It is truly an honour," replied Narcissa, inclining her head in respect.

Lucius Malfoy turned his grey eyes from the window to look upon the face of his future wife; the sight he was greeted with did not disappoint him. Her face still retained its icy, emotionless expression, an expression he still vividly remembered from their first encounter. Her figure had grown more womanly yet still remained slight in frame. Yes, she would make a fine wife.

"It has been a long time," replied Lucius as he brought Narcissa's hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on it.

"Indeed," said Narcissa, retaining an aura of modesty and politeness in front of her father.

"Well, I believe it is time for me to take my leave," cut in Cygnus Black, eyeing his daughter and her future husband. "Come Tippy. Young Malfoy, your attendance will be required in the library after you have concluded your discussion with my daughter. I trust you will be punctual."

The silent house elf scuttled after her Master a definite limp detectable in her step leaving the couple alone in the candlelit study. A silence descended on the two broken only by the crackling of the fire. Narcissa's mind flooded with a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, questions she desperately wanted to ask him. However, no matter how hard she tried she found that her words caught in her throat.

"You don't need to be shy around me, Narcissa," spoke Lucius, tipping her chin up to face him.

"As you have said, it has been a long time," replied Narcissa coolly, her blue eyes drinking in every contour of his face.

"And now I have returned," smiled Lucius, yet something about his smile seemed cold and empty.

"For that I am glad," returned Narcissa, bowing her head once more.

"Your formality is admirable," sighed Lucius, stroking her cheek, "but unnecessary."

"What would you have me say?" replied Narcissa, a bite of frustration evident in her voice. "For five years, I have heard nothing – nothing from you, nothing about you. Why?"

"It was for the best," replied Lucius casually. "All that matters is I am here now."

"Here as a stranger," spoke Narcissa defiantly.

"I am no stranger," murmured Lucius softly. "Least of all to you."

"Prove it," challenged Narcissa. "Prove to me that five years has not made you so."

In a matter of moments Lucius' lips were pressed against her own with a brutal force. Narcissa could feel her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer towards her. She could feel his elegant hands wrapped around her caressing the contours of her back. Five years of longing, of waiting saturated the embrace, an embrace tinged with fire. As Narcissa broke away she could feel her breathing come in long, ragged gasps, her chest rapidly rising and falling.

"Enough proof for you?" asked Lucius, his lips reddened. "Or would you like more?"

It was Narcissa's turn to answer his question and she did so by renewing their embrace once again. Her hands moved up to run through his hair, tilting his head further down towards her. She prayed that this wasn't some horrid dream that would end with her waking up into loneliness again, but surely dreams didn't feel this real, this intense? He had really come back to her. Looking into his steely eyes, Narcissa felt her face soften, the icy barricade beginning to melt away.

"Why did you take so long to return?" whispered Narcissa, resting her head against his chest.

"I had further business in Romania," replied Lucius, his chin resting on the top of her head. "Business I could not ignore."

"Business with _him_?" questioned Narcissa, pulling her head back and looking into his eyes. "With the Dark Lord?"

"You are most perceptive indeed," spoke Lucius coldly, his eyes hardening. "Perhaps too perceptive."

"You think that I would not suspect?" challenged Narcissa. "With my own sister and brothers-in-law serving him? I am not ignorant to what is going on."

"That was not even insinuated," replied Lucius still fixing her with an unwavering gaze.

"You are a Death Eater, aren't you?" asked Narcissa, her eyes flickering down to look at his left forearm.

"I am loyal to the Dark Lord," returned Lucius carefully.

"That does not answer my question," retorted Narcissa, desperately trying to keep the anger from her voice.

"It will serve," replied Lucius through clenched teeth.

"You have changed so much," began Narcissa, her hand reaching to touch his face, "so much that I cannot begin to understand it."

"If I have changed it is only for the better," reasoned Lucius, allowing Narcissa's hand to rest on his cheek.

"Is it?" questioned Narcissa, her eyebrow arched.

"You think to challenge me?" snapped Lucius, grabbing the hand that lay on his cheek. "This insolence shall not be tolerated!"

"What has happened to you?" spat Narcissa, wrenching her wrist from his grasp.

Narcissa glared at him, her eyes darkening in anger. Had the Dark Lord turned him insane? Transformed his wits to madness? However, there was no trace of insanity in his eyes, they seemed dead, cold - only his actions betrayed his emotions; even his breathing was calm and regulated.

"Do you recall your sister's wedding eight months ago?" asked Lucius calmly, his demeanour disconcertingly shifting from anger to placidity.

"Yes, but I-,"

"Do you remember the caster of the Cruciatus curse?" continued Lucius, ignoring Narcissa's reply.

"How did you kn-?" And then it hit her. "It was you. You cast the curse, but how? There was no one there."

"Can you be sure of that?" smiled Lucius, his hand running up and down her arm.

"I saw no-one," reaffirmed Narcissa.

"I could see you and him... _Rosier,_" replied Lucius, his voice growing cold. "I could see him touching you, kissing you, _wanting _you. I wanted him to pay for his trespasses; I wanted him to feel the most unbelievable pain. You couldn't see me, but I could indeed see you."

"Why wouldn't you let me see you?" asked Narcissa, her mind reeling after Lucius' declaration. "Why? After all these years?"

"The time still wasn't right," replied Lucius, taking her hands in his, "but now it is; now you will be my wife."

Narcissa felt the grip of his hands tighten over her own. Her heart ached with the love that she bore for him, but something unspoken told her that his feelings for her were not the same as they had been. Narcissa only had to look in his eyes once again to see a void, an emptiness... Dare she ask the question she had wanted to ask for so long?

"You are hesitant," said Lucius, looking at her critically. "What is wrong?"

"Your loyalty and love towards the Dark Lord must hold no bounds," began Narcissa, looking up at him, "this I know and understand, yet... what of your loyalty and love for me?"

Lucius' mouth drew up into a solemn grimace as he looked down at Narcissa, her cobalt eyes resolutely fixed on him. Releasing her hands from his own, Lucius turned from her, running a hand through his blonde hair. He had a feeling that she would be able to see through any lie he threw at her – she wasn't stupid and far more perceptive than he would have liked. Lucius believed that he _had _been in love with her once, all those years ago, before he had pledged his soul and allegiance to Him.

"Narcissa," began Lucius, finally turning around to face her once more. "I-,"

"No, I was foolish to think such nonsense," interrupted Narcissa, placing the tips of her fingers over his mouth. "I thought you loved me once, I see that thought was misplaced. It is of no consequence."

"Make no mistake, Narcissa," began Lucius, removing her hand and gently kissing it, "the Dark Lord indeed has my loyalty, but you?" Lucius paused. "Your place will be at my side as my wife and as the mother of my heir; know this and be satisfied."

Narcissa could only nod at his reply; her heart still ached, but now with an indescribable feeling of loss and pain. Was it wrong for her to _resent _Lucius' loyalty to Lord Voldemort? No; she knew such loyalty would protect them, it would ensure their safety and the safety of their future children. She should be thankful, but no matter how hard she tried to be she just couldn't. She should be happy that her father had accepted Lucius' proposal, but how could she be wholly happy when she knew in her heart of hearts that she was a convenience, a necessary match? Allowing a silent sigh to pass between her perfect lips, Narcissa leant her head against Lucius' chest hearing his cold heart beat out its perfect rhythm.

"It is enough," lied Narcissa softly, her hand curled against his chest. "It will always be enough."

"Good," replied Lucius coolly, resting his chin upon her head once more, unaware of the single tear that fell from his fiancée's expressionless eyes.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here," sighed Lucius, his grey eyes rolling to the ceiling. "You realise our guests are waiting."

Narcissa Malfoy was brought to her senses by the sound of her husband's exasperated tone. She had not even heard him enter their bedroom.

"Are they?" responded Narcissa absentmindedly.

"Yes, they are," replied Lucius impatiently.

She could see his reflection in the dressing table mirrors in front of her; he was wearing his best dress robes: black velvet trimmed with green satin, finished off with silver clasps on the sleeves and around the collar. His hair was tied back, bringing further attention to his sharp, cut-glass features. Even after twenty years of marriage, Lucius had lost none of his handsomeness; in fact it could be argued that age had only accentuated his features. Narcissa laid her hair brush on the mahogany dresser in front of her and slowly turned to face her husband.

"Well, our guests will have to wait a little while longer," replied Narcissa evenly. "Surely, you would not have me go down to greet them like this?"

She arched one of her eyebrows, questioning Lucius with unspoken words and then turned back to look at her reflection in the mirrors. Narcissa felt herself subconsciously shudder as a firm grasp planted itself on her left shoulder. She knew she would come to regret those words...

"Very well," whispered Lucius calmly, his right hand reaching for the brush that lay in front of Narcissa; taking the brush in hand, he began to run it through his wife's long blonde hair, stroke after stroke. Her eyes lulled shut as she felt his gloved hand lift from her shoulder and gently stroke the side of her face. It had been so long since he had shown her any affection that she allowed herself to carelessly lean into his touch...

"But you would do well to curb that Black insolence," he snarled suddenly; the hand that had mere seconds ago caressed her face now held it in a vice-like grip. She could see the anger flaring in his steely eyes as he looked at her with the utmost contempt. "Do you understand me?" he rasped into her ear.

Narcissa felt her pride surge as his grip grew tighter – she could feel the burning sensation of angry tears pushing their way to the surface, but there was no way she would ever let him see her cry. _A Black will show no weakness_, but she was a Black no more, none of those old lessons would aid her now. She could feel the familiar bite of her nails as they dug into her palms - her hands clenching tightly, knuckles pushing against their pale covering.

"I understand," replied Narcissa her jaw clenched, her voice strengthened with as much defiance as she could muster.

"Good," smiled Lucius slyly, releasing his grip on her. "You will be ready within the hour."

"As you wish," conceded Narcissa, bowing her head in silent respect.

Narcissa Malfoy watched as she saw the reflection of her husband walk toward the heavy oak doors and depart. Her cheeks burned red where her husband had grabbed her face so violently. Narcissa absentmindedly reached for her white face powder and brushed it over her cheeks, her cerulean eyes vacantly staring at her reflection. She could not have herself looking flustered in front of their guests for it would shame Lucius and, in turn, she herself would feel shamed. Slowly, she stood up from her dresser and drifted silently towards the bedroom door; the snakes on the handles hissed at her as if they somehow knew she had incurred the wrath of their master. Ignoring the angry rasps of the serpents, Narcissa pushed open the doors and descended down the grand staircase where she was greeted with comments about how well she was looking. Narcissa merely smiled and thanked them as she was accustomed to doing so and, as routine stated, graciously took her husband's arm.

"If you would like to follow us to the dining hall?"

A courteous smile remained fixed on her face as she led the guests into the stately dining room. When she finally turned to her husband and saw the look in his eyes, she realised it had always been about him. Everything she did, she did for him because she was a Malfoy now... not a Black, a _Malfoy_. The difference, in the end, was everything.

* * *

_That's it everyone, expect an epilogue sometime soon. This chapter was so hard to write, mostly because I didn't want to finish it. I made the chapter rather long as a kinda thank you and also because I had a lot of stuff left to write. I know that a lot of characters were left unexplored, but this fic was supposed to be mostly about Lucius and Narcissa and I hope I've conveyed that in the story. Thanks again for all the reviews and kind comments, I hope that you'll give me one last review to tell me how you liked the fic. Oh, and the marriage ceremony is based on a traditional handfasting found in 'The Witch's Bible' just in case anyone was interested. _


	16. Epilogue

_Ok, here, as promised, is the Epilogue to 'Back to Black.' For those of you who haven't yet read 'Half-Blood Prince' __**it would be best if you didn't read this**__ as it does contain spoilers for what happens in Book 6 – __major spoilers__. Hopefully this adds some final closure to the fic itself, after this I'll be able to say it's completed! Kinda sad, but don't worry, I'm sure I'll think of some other impromptu, adlibbed fics :D Enjoy the last part of 'Back to Black' – sakurazukamori out._

**.:Epilogue:.**

She could feel the moisture of the grass beneath her dark, mourning robes, and the coldness of the wind callously whipping a blush to her cheeks. On first appearances she looked like a young woman enjoying the fresh air of the countryside; it was her eyes, however, that betrayed her. She was neither a young woman nor was she enjoying the fresh air. Faint lines had begun to spread from the corners of her expressionless eyes that seemed fixed on everything and nothing at the same time. She wasn't here for leisure or for enjoyment. Her frail fingers ran along the edge of the sharpened dagger that lay nestled in her lap. A dull pain, a spot of blood and the knife that she had spent so long cleaning and polishing was tarnished. Instinctively she wiped the blood away with a black handkerchief, her fingers still tracing the contours of the blade. So, this was how the proud and beautiful Narcissa Malfoy would meet her end. She wasn't scared – she feared nothing, not even Death itself. This was her punishment, the only chance she had to redeem herself for allowing_him _to get so involved.

"My son," she murmured hoarsely. "My Draco."

Tears threatened to spill from her once vivid eyes, but none came. What good would come from her tears? Gingerly, Narcissa pressed the blade to her ivory skin allowing herself to feel its coldness, its finality. Could she commit this act? An act that took so much strength, but was deemed one of cowardice? The blade quivered slightly threatening to cut her, to expose the blood that ran beneath. Dropping the blade on to the grass, she brought her hands up to her face, cradling it. Oh how she longed for peace, for a release from this torture...

* * *

"You aren't trying hard enough, boy!" screeched an enraged Bellatrix Lestrange, her yew wand pointed at a prone figure on the floor. "You're too soft."

Turning the body over with the toe of her boot, Bellatrix looked into the face of her nephew, Draco Malfoy. There was a steady trickle of blood running from his nose and his pupils were strangely dilated. However, Bellatrix felt no remorse, it was about time the boy knew how it felt to be hit by Unforgivable Curses and it just so happened that the Cruciatus curse was one of her specialities.

"Get up," snarled Bellatrix, turning her back on him.

Draco Malfoy struggled to his feet, his legs almost buckling beneath him. His eyes focused on his aunt... her back was turned, he had a chance!

"_Cruci-_,"

"_Protego!_"

The curse that Draco had aimed at his aunt came speeding back towards him; lunging out of the way the blonde haired wizard only just managed to avoid it.

"You think I didn't expect that?" questioned Bellatrix, striding towards him. "You think the Order and Potter won't expect that?!"

"You told me to take every possible opportunity, Aunt Bella," replied Draco breathlessly, his legs still shaking. "That's what I did."

Bellatrix merely looked at her nephew with disdain and disappointment. His resilience to the Cruciatus curse was hardly anything to write home about, his Occlumency skills were improving, but she could still easily break into his mind. She knew that her sister would have been soft with him, but surely not this soft? Not so soft that the boy had developed a conscience? Yes indeed, he had proven that this was the case the night of the Hogwarts fiasco when Snape had to kill Dumblefore for him. One could not be an effective Death Eater with a conscience; there was one who had realised that much, much too late: her own cousin, Regulus Black. She, Bellatrix Lestrange, was left with the task of working Draco's conscience into the ground and with that any remaining loyalties he held that were not to the Dark Lord himself. Pulling her hood up over her head and placing the Death Eater mask over her haughty features, Bellatrix turned to Draco.

"Come," said Bellatrix, gesturing to Draco with her wand. "I believe it is time we see how much of my teaching you have actually remembered."

Draco merely nodded before placing that hideous mask over his pointed features and pulling his hood up enveloping the platinum hair that lay beneath.

"Where are we going?" asked Draco, a slight hint of uncertainty edging his voice.

"Oh don't worry," smiled Bellatrix. "You'll see soon enough."

* * *

It did not matter that there were no longer Dementors roaming the corridors of the wizard prison, Azkaban, it was obvious that a part of their essence still remained, eternally trapped in the living walls. That, in itself, was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity... even the most hardened of wizards. Through the iron-barred, rune-emblazoned peephole of Cell 813 one could see the seated form of a wizard, a fallen Death Eater. His wrists and ankles were bound to a rusting iron chair with chains, their harsh grip cutting into the wizard's pale flesh, gnawing away at it. His once impeccably blonde hair was tarnished and dirty, his face in a similar condition. The pink lips that often formed a sneer or, more rarely, a smile were cracked and bleeding. On first glances, one would think that the prostrate figure of Lucius Malfoy had entered the realm of eternal sleep, but Death remained ever elusive to him; in fact, the only thing that betrayed his corpselike figure was the constant, minute moving of his bleeding lips. _Whispers._ Whispers that barely broke the silence that hung about him, imprisoning him further.

"Cissa... Where are you?" he murmured, a slow trail of tears trickling from his expressionless eyes. "My wife, my _love_... Cissa."

But once again, his whispers came to nothing, just as they had done for the past year. The tears that spilt from his eyes followed the well-beaten tracks that previous tears had marked out, cascading down his gaunt face and disappearing into the darkness. The proud wizard had been broken.

* * *

"Do it boy!" snarled Bellatrix, her wand pointed at her nephew's throat, threatening green sparks scorching his skin.

Draco felt his eyes dart between his aunt Bella's masked face and the pleading face of the young mudblood girl in front of him. He could see her prone form shaking, goosebumps erupting across her bare arms. Her eyes spoke more than words ever could... she was afraid and so she should be. Around her lay the dead bodies of her parents, their faces frozen in shock, their lifeless eyes blank and staring. Draco could feel her deep brown eyes pleading with him, _begging _for him to spare her life. However, the subconscious need to survive caused Draco to bring his wand hand from his side, the tip of his hornbeam wand level with her heart. He swallowed back down the rising tide of vomit as his eyes finally met with hers.

"Yes, that's it!" screeched Bellatrix, her lips curling into a sadistic smile. "Make her suffer!"

He knew this was not only his punishment, but his father's and mother's also... they had all failed the Dark Lord and he, Draco, was the only one now who could sate Lord Voldemort's wrath.

"Crucio," spoke Draco... but nothing happened, only weak red sparks spluttered from the end of his wand.

"You've got to mean it boy," snarled Bellatrix, her wand now digging against his jugular. "How about we go over this lesson one more time, hmm?" Removing her wand tip from Draco's neck, she pointed it squarely at the girl. "CRUCIO!"

The girl screamed out in horrific pain, her body convulsing violently on the floor, but no matter how much she screamed, Bellatrix's maniacal laughter managed to drown it out. A look of sheer insanity contorted Bellatrix Lestrange's features as she forced more pain on the girl. Blood began to seep from the girl's ears, her nails raking at her skin as she tried to vainly fight against the curse. Draco watched in horror as the girl slashed jagged rivets into her flesh with her own nails, his heart freezing in his chest.

"Stop," he whispered his voice weak and quiet.

"What was that nephew?" smiled Bellatrix, her eyes never leaving the fitting form of the mudblood. "You think I'm being too _soft_perhaps? Very well..."

Bellatrix invoked the spell once again, but with such ferocity that the girl flew backwards against the doorframe, her head hitting the oak with a sickening crunch. Still though, her bleeding lips emitted surreal, unnerving shrieks of dire agony, her mind turning in on itself, succumbing to the realm of paradox.

"STOP!" roared Draco, pointing his wand at his aunt.

"Aw, does wittle baby Dwaco not want to play this game anymore?" jeered Bellatrix, her childish voice chilling him to the core. "You want to end her suffering? Then END it, or I will end you!"

Draco knew that his aunt was not lying – he knew she had the courage of her convictions unlike him. He had never killed a human being in his life, wizard or muggle; even in the direst of situations his naivety engulfed him, staying his hand. Her screams were becoming unbearable; her face was a bloody mess of flesh and fatty tissue, surely killing her would be the right thing to do... a mercy killing as it were. Swallowing down the threat of vomit once again, Draco pointed his wand back at the supine figure of the girl.

"What are you waiting for?!" asked Bellatrix, her voice grating and harsh.

Closing his eyes, he imagined the girl dead, her face frozen, her body rigid and allowed the two words to silence the room.

"Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

The past, the past... why did the past always come back to haunt her, mock her, remind her of what she had once had and what she had, inevitably, lost? Sitting here in solitude, in contemplation, Narcissa felt the past creep up on her, infiltrating her thoughts and luring her back... _No, I can't go back,_ However, as much as Narcissa tried to refuse it was in vain. It was true that there was little comfort in her past, but there was more then than there was now. Some would call her foolish, some would say that the Dark Lord's cause was stronger than it had ever been especially with Dumbledore now dead, but that wasn't enough for her. Although she had never been the sentimental type, Narcissa wanted her family back... she didn't want to feel alone anymore. She had accepted Lucius's allegiance, loyalty, _love _of the Dark Lord without question, but she couldn't bear to see her only son follow that same path.

It was a weakness, she knew now, making the Unbreakable Vow with Severus Snape, but at the time she was in the clutches of desperation. Narcissa knew that her son's mission was the Dark Lord's punishment for Lucius's failure, for her failure... Draco saw it as his chance to 'shine'. _When did I become so weak? So dependent? If only Evan could see me now..._ Narcissa didn't know why her thoughts had turned so abruptly to Evan Rosier. It shocked her to think that years after his death, years after she had spurned him, he appeared so readily in her thoughts. _Fate was too cruel to you, too cruel to us all._ Was it fate though? Was it fate that made so many of her Hogwarts companions embrace the Dark Lord? No... it was a choice, a choice that she herself had made too.

"You'll catch a cold if you're not careful," spoke a soft voice, startling Narcissa from her thoughts.

Turning around, Narcissa felt her breath catch in her throat as she set eyes on the owner of that voice, on one of the few people she never thought would come back into her life ever again.

* * *

It was the silence that unnerved him more than anything, more than the cavernous cell, more than the heavy chains that bound him. The silence played tricks on him, made him questions things that ought not to be questioned, made him see things he ought not to see. However, this was not the first time that Rodolphus Lestrange had been privy to the insanity of silence. The first time he was imprisoned in Azkaban had been a far worse ordeal... the rattling breath of the Dementors drawing forth unbidden images of betrayal and death, the screams of the insane. A subconscious shudder wracked the emaciated body of Rodolphus, the hairs on his forearms standing on end as he thought about the foul presence of the Dementors. Their scabbed protrusions, their _smell_... it was like coming face to face with Death itself. For some reason they never seemed to bother _her_, not outwardly anyway... his wife, his Bellatrix. Even though their marriage was one of convenience he felt more than he should, although he knew that wasn't true of her. Rodolphus knew, he always knew, that Bellatrix would belong to the Dark Lord - would give herself to the Dark Lord, would _die_ for the Dark Lord.

"Brother," came a strained, hoarse voice.

_Already midnight I see..._ Midnight signified the arrival of the night shift aurors, it also signified the time when the two Lestrange brothers began their muttered correspondence.

"Yes, Rabastan," replied Rodolphus, his hollowed eyes closing as his ears strained to hear his brother's voice.

"I've been thinking," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "about the past."

"The past?"

"The memories, memories of the past," continued Rabastan. "I've saved them."

It wasn't difficult to detect the insane bent in Rabastan's voice... Azkaban had ruined his mind the first time round and although there were no longer any Dementors left, Rodolphus had little doubt that a second tenure would push him over the edge. _Or perhaps both of us..._

"Saved them, Rabastan?" questioned Rodolphus.

"From them, from Him," mused Rabastan, his voice becoming possessive and secretive as if he actually physically held the memories in his arms.

"What are they, brother? What do you remember?"

"Everything," hissed Rabastan.

"You always had a good memory," replied Rodolphus, a bitterness surfacing in his voice. "Always the clever one, always the favourite."

Rodolphus's words were not met with a coherent reply, but a profound silence. It would only be a matter of time before that silence was shattered...

"They think they can keep us in here forever?!" shrieked Rabastan, his voice breaking. "US?! His most loyal followers!"

"Of course they can't," replied Rodolphus, his cracked lips barely moving. "There will be no stopping him... no stopping us."

"He will come for us, brother... Can you not feel it!?"

Without even thinking about his actions, Rodolphus felt his lifeless blue eyes darting down to his left forearm. The Mark... it seemed different somehow, the skull's smile seemed wider, and the snake looked almost real, undulating down his arm. Ever since the news of Dumbledore's death, the Mark had grown darker in colour, but right now, in the darkness of his prison cell, it seemed to come alive.

"Yes, my brother," replied Rodolphus finally, his eyes focusing on the narrow slit of the prison door, a fervour rising in his voice. "I can feel Him... I can always feel Him."

"Soon he will come for us, soon... and then-,"

Rabastan, even in his ravings, was right; the Dark Lord would come for them, or they would come to him. Anti-magic barriers and third rate aurors would not be able to hold them in this thrice-cursed prison forever. They would escape once again, but this time their vengeance would be swift and merciless... the bloodlust that threatened to spill over would be sated.

"And then, my brother, there will be justice," finished Rodolphus, a husk of a smile sadistically hanging on his lips before disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

It would seem that age had done little to lessen her beauty, that brown hair settling about her shoulders, her face only slightly marked by age. Yes, time had been kind to Andromeda Tonks as she stood standing over her younger sister on the hillside. Narcissa had risen to her feet and looked at her sister in disbelief, the dagger still in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" asked Narcissa, her voice cold and steely. "Come to see what your little sister has done with her life?"

Andromeda shook her head, a look of sympathy etched across her pretty features.

"Do you remember how we used to come here as children?" began Andromeda, ignoring her younger sister's angry comments. "It was mother's favourite spot."

Narcissa felt herself unwittingly remember the long summers she had spent on this heath with her two sisters… back when they were close, when the family was together. Occasionally her aunt and uncle would join them with a rather reluctant Sirius in tow… Regulus was still a babe in arms back then.

"I remember," murmured Narcissa, turning away from Andromeda, her cerulean eyes gazing down into the valley below.

Andromeda took a few tentative steps towards her younger sister.

"Stay away from me," warned Narcissa, hearing her sister's approach. "The Order has sent you… sent you to offer me protection, or to take me into custody… or get me to tell them where my son is."

"Cissa," began Andromeda, halting in her steps, "that's not why I'm here."

Narcissa turned around and looked at her sister, her eyes narrowing.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because life's too short," replied Andromeda simply. "After Sirius' death, it made me realise."

"You always were the sentimental one," snarled Narcissa.

"I think you were too once," smiled Andromeda, not letting Narcissa's comments hurt her. She had known this was not going to be easy – both Nymphadora and Ted had warned her, but she had some of that infamous Black insolence in her whether she liked it or not.

"You don't know anything about me!"

"I know you're alone," murmured Andromeda.

Within seconds Narcissa had the dagger in her hand at her sister's throat, her indigo eyes flaming with hurt pride. Andromeda did not flinch, but looked at her sister with something akin to pity in her eyes.

"It's alright," whispered Andromeda. "I know you loved him, that you love him… that you love your son."

Her voice was like a soothing balm just as it had been when they were younger… of course, Cissa would never be one to admit to such sentimentality. Her years of marriage to Lucius had hardened her with only the birth of her son offering her some form of respite from her hardness of character.

"You would see them dead, you and the Order," retorted Narcissa, the dagger nicking Andromeda's throat slightly as Narcissa's hand shook.

"Blood is thicker than water," replied Andromeda calmly. "I remember a time when you clung to that as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world."

Narcissa stayed her hand, but still kept the dagger at her sister's throat. It was true; her family, her pride, her _blood_… it had meant everything to her, it used to mean everything to Bellatrix at one point too.

"Nothing matters anymore," uttered Narcissa, shaking her head. "My husband is in Azkaban; my son is nowhere to be found."

"Oh, Cissa," sighed Andromeda, a compassion clinging to her words.

"I don't want your pity," retorted Narcissa. "I don't want anything from you!"

Andromeda slowly brought a hand to the dagger that rested against her neck and gently placed her fingertips upon her sister's hand. Narcissa's eyes widened and she tried to recoil, but Andromeda's grip was strong, the dagger quickly falling from Narcissa's hand. Before she knew it, Andromeda had pulled her into a sisterly embrace. Narcissa's arms lay rigid at her sides, her mouth pursed into an obstinate line.

"I know you would never ask for anything from me," said Andromeda, her voice low. "You're too proud for that. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"Well you can see how okay I am," replied Narcissa, her voice muffled. "So go back and gloat… gloat how you have it all, that Narcissa Malfoy has no hope, nothing."

Narcissa eyes threatened to spill with tears as her elder sister stroked her long golden hair in an action that reminded her of her mother, Druella, but also of Lucius. She missed him so much… even though he had seemingly treated her with nothing other than contempt.

"There is always hope," whispered Andromeda, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"You're wrong, there is no hope for me or my family now," replied Narcissa, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. "There never was any hope… now, there is even less."

The dam that Narcissa had spent all of her life constructing began to break, more tears trickling down her alabaster cheeks, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to stem the emotional tide. Emotions made you weak, or so her father had said, but that was a lie… wasn't it? Burying her face into her elder sister's shoulder, Narcissa finally gave in, her tears signifying one last act of wilful defiance against her blood, her family, her pride.

* * *

_A/N: Well, it's been a long time in coming and for that I apologise profusely. It was a difficult epilogue to write, but I am glad I have some closure with it. I want to pursue Lucius and Rabastan's time at Durmstrang in another fanfic that I hope to start over the summer holidays. Thanks for all of your continued support – without all you faithful reviewers and readers this fic would never have progressed beyond the two-parter I had intended it to be. Keep checking back for updates in my other Harry Potter fanfictions._


	17. Fin

_I really thought I'd put this fanfiction to rest, but the end of_Deathly Hallows _inspired this second epilogue as it were. I know there are no loose ends to tie up, but I wouldn't have been happy if I didn't write this. It's not an amazing chapter, there may be an element of 'out of characterness' so criticism is very welcome. Thanks for all the reviews over the past few years._ Characters and the Harry Potter Universe are copyrighted to J.K Rowling.

**.:Fin:.**

She thought she saw the boy she had saved, the Boy Who Lived, out of the corner of her eye, but it did not matter, it did not even truly register with her. It only mattered that her own son was alive and that he was sitting next to her albeit wan and ashen. Her voice had grown hoarse as she had screamed out her son's name over the din; her eyes had frantically scanned each nook and cranny, each dead body for a glimpse of her son. What would she have done if Draco had died? The thought chilled her and she instinctively drew her son closer towards her; for the first time since he was child, Draco Malfoy did not recoil away from his mother's touch.

The past year had seemed like a surreal dream or rather an unending nightmare. Voldemort had commandeered their home, tortured countless victims within its ancient, silent walls and killed them when they had served their purpose. No, she was lying. It had not just been the past year that resembled an unending nightmare, but the past twenty years. The Dark Lord had been an albatross hanging around the Malfoy family's collective necks... but now he was gone, dead, killed by Harry Potter. Did this mean they could become a 'normal' family? Narcissa did not know; 'normal' to her had been sharing her husband, her son and her sister with the Dark Lord... The Malfoys would hardly be able to slip back into domestic life when they did not know what domestic life was. However, any thoughts of the problems they would face dissipated as Narcissa felt her husband's arm slip around her waist drawing her and Draco closer towards him. Her heart ached, but whether through joy or grief she could not discern. Oh, how she had longed for any form of affection, a simple gesture, a glance from Lucius... and now he was holding her like he had done all those years ago when they were carefree at Hogwarts. _No, even then we were not carefree... even then the Dark Lord infected our lives._ Narcissa could feel a swelling of emotion rising inside her, her skin breaking out into goosebumps as she attempted to dam the surge of tears that threatened to spill from her bloodshot eyes. Before she could stop herself Narcissa had wrapped her arms tightly around her son, burying her face into his blonde hair. He smelt of smoke and ash. Oh Merlin, how close had she come to losing everything?

The cheers, the laughter and the tears that surrounded them did not register to Narcissa. It was as if the Malfoys had been ostracised from this merriment, this rejoicing over the fall of the Dark Lord. All Narcissa could hear were her husband's choked utterings of thanks to Merlin, Circe, even God that his family was alive. Draco did not say anything, he did not have to; Narcissa could feel his body shake as he sobbed silently, his lips pursed in a vain attempt to stop them from trembling. His sooty hands opened and closed into fists in an attempt to exert some control over his body, his blackened fingernails biting grooves into his skin as his sobs increased. Narcissa wished she could take his pain away, erase the past few years, make him forget the terrible things the Dark Lord had made him commit, but she could not; all she could do was hold him and soothe him with broken words.

"Sshh," murmured Narcissa, her lips pressed against the crown of Draco's head.

Narcissa's cerulean eyes opened to look up at her husband. Azkaban had broken him. His eyes, once hard and unforgiving, were fearful and_haunted_. The lips that would often sneer or grimace were now trembling just like his son's; much like Draco, Lucius still clung to his pride, but the way his wife looked at him threatened to expose him and strip away his only defence.

"Cissa," whispered Lucius, her name dying on his lips. He had lost the strength to speak, but Narcissa could see his lips forming the syllables of her name.

"Don't," she whispered back, her head shaking slightly. "You don't need to say anything."

"I'm sorry," he choked, his voice breaking.

Narcissa was stunned into silence, her eyes widened slightly as she heard her husband utter those unimaginable words. Never had she thought to see a remorseful side to Lucius, never had she thought that she might have to be the strong one when all was said and done. She did not know what to say; sometimes silence was the best answer….

"Bellatrix? Done for! Should've seen Mrs. Weasley in action!" came a voice, shattering the safe familial cocoon, the simple silence.

_Bellatrix…_ The name was almost alien to her – a distant shade from her past. Narcissa had not even realised that her own sister had fallen in battle. Was it wrong for her to feel… elation? A happiness that her sister would not darken her door again, that she would not bring Voldemort's evil into her home? No, it couldn't be wrong. Although she couldn't help but look to where a sizeable crowd were gathering around where she assumed her sister's broken body lay...

"_Well, little Pansy is coming along in leaps and bounds," tittered Violet Parkinson, her eyes fixed on Dorea Nott who had, moments before, been bragging about her newborn son, Theodore. "Basil obviously wanted a son; we both did, but there's still time!"_

_Narcissa hated playing hostess to the wives of her husband's 'friends', but it was one of many roles expected of her especially now that their futures were all so uncertain... Seven women, including Narcissa sat in the day room, bone china tea cups held in well-manicured hands or set on one of many mahogany tables dotted around the room. It was a bitter winter morning with the first snow depositing delicate snowflakes on to the windowpane. Each woman had turned up in their finest in the hope of outdoing each other and their hostess, but Narcissa managed to outshine them all with her cold beauty and eye for detail. She surveyed each woman with an appraising eye; Cruesa Greengrass had been a few years above her at Hogwarts, sister to Stefan Wilkes, and married to Oscar Greengrass. Oscar had not been initiated into the Dark Lord's inner circle, but still had no qualms about leaking information to Him from the Ministry of Magic. And then there was of course Saffron Goyle, whom Narcissa had known as Saffron Parkinson when they attended Hogwarts together…_

"_You're very out of sorts today, Narcissa," commented Violet Parkinson, her lips drawn into a thin, determined line._

"_I cannot imagine what you mean, Vi," smiled Narcissa over her teacup. "Just because I am not wittering on about my son does not mean I am 'out of sorts' as you so eloquently put it."_

_Violet laughed nervously, trying to shake off Narcissa's slight. A silence descended upon the group of women following Narcissa's curt reply until Miranda Bulstrode nervously cleared her throat and broached the subject they were all too afraid to mention…_

"_Awfully sorry to hear about Bellatrix and Rodolphus," offered Miranda quietly. "Terrible place…"_

_Narcissa placed her teacup back on her saucer with the slightest of tinkles as her cool blue gaze travelled to Miranda._

"_Quite," offered Narcissa in response._

_The incident with the Longbottoms had occurred not two weeks past. It was a dreadful sight from what she had heard a last ditch attempt to discover the whereabouts of the Dark Lord. Ever since the night her sister had been dragged cackling insanely to the courtroom Narcissa had attempted to harden herself to the fact that she was alone – Andromeda had gone, Regulus had been murdered for treachery, Sirius was in Azkaban and now Bellatrix was joining him. Had anyone ever lost so much? The family she had clung to so fervently had all but perished in the wake of the Dark Lord._

"_What do you think will happen to us?" ventured Hestia Crabbe, nursing her teacup in the seat of her lap._

"_Nothing," replied Narcissa simply. "We will continue as we have done. We will support ort husbands and ensure our children's futures. What more is there to do?"_

_The lessons she had been taught over and over again were given new life as she advised the circle of women around her. Her knuckles had turned white, nails biting into the palm of her hand as she subconsciously clenched the fabric of her robes in an action that suggested both fear and anxiety. Oh, she was scared, but not for herself. She was scared for her son and for the husband who had pushed her away for the four years they had been married._

"_Are any of us safe?" whispered Saffron Goyle, her eyes dewing as she looked to Narcissa._

"_In Circe's name, what a sorry tea party this is!" declared Narcissa curtly, rising to her feet. "If I'd have known what miserable company I'd have to endure I would not have wasted my time."_

_Eyeing each woman with contempt, Narcissa paused before abruptly leaving the day room, robes billowing out behind her, the heels of her shoes clicking cleanly upon the tiled floor, the whispers and gossip already heralding her exit. She needed to see her son, the one constant in her tumultuous life… Making her way to the nursery Narcissa silently opened the door lest her son was asleep._

"…_He killed the dragon and rescued the beautiful enchantress, Lyra, from the tower," said Lucius to a little bundle neatly nestled in his arms. "That's where your name comes from. Your great ancestor, Draconis, was renowned throughout the land for his deeds. It is a name to be proud of… Draco."_

_Draco cooed contentedly, his feet kicking out from under the shawl Lucius was holding him in._

"_Now, what other stories are there…" mused Lucius, completely unaware of his wife's presence until she closed the door behind her. Lucius did not even turn around, but merely placed the gargling Draco back into his crib whilst clearing his throat._

"_I did not expect you back," started Narcissa coolly, stepping up to her husband's side, her cold gaze softening as she looked at their son._

"_The Ministry are easily bought," replied Lucius, folding his arms across his chest. "Pay the right people and they will believe anything. In Bagnold's eyes I was under the Imperius curse…"_

_Narcissa closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh._

"… _But in Moody and Crouch's eyes?" she offered, an eyebrow arched._

"_They are nothing," said Lucius, his tone dangerous. "Crouch is too busy clearing his own name and Moody's glory days are over."_

"_As are my sister's," said Narcissa, looking directly at her husband._

_Lucius did not even have the grace to meet his wife's gaze; instead he turned and walked towards the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece. His brow was drawn into a frown, the flames from the fire dancing in his steel-grey eyes._

"_Bellatrix knew the consequences of her actions," he said finally, "as did Rodolphus, Rabastan and Barty Crouch. It was foolhardy, but they were the strongest believers in our cause."_

"_The cause is over!" spat Narcissa, her voice louder than she realised. "I thank Merlin that our son still has a father. What if it had been you in Rabastan or Barty's place?"_

_Lucius turned and looked at his wife, his grey eyes hard and narrow._

"_Then I would have suffered the consequences," said Lucius, his tone quiet and dangerous._

"_Of course because our son means that little to you," retorted Narcissa coldly._

"_I'm warning you don't bring Draco into this, Narcissa," warned Lucius, grabbing the top of his wife's arm._

"_Don't touch me," snarled Narcissa, throwing off his arm. "You've got blood on your hands."_

_The statement was metaphorical, but regardless Lucius looked down at his hands examining them in the firelight._

"_Name one pureblood family that does not have blood on its hands," murmured Lucius, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. "It's for the greater good…"_

"_Listen to yourself!" spat Narcissa angrily. "What greater good can come out of murdering the Potters, torturing the Longbottoms?! The Longbottoms were pureblood! When will it be our turn?"_

_Narcissa was visibly shaking now with a mixture of anger and fear. No one would believe that Lucius had acted under the Imperius curse, no one with the slightest slither of intelligence. With the Dark Lord gone, the Malfoys had lost their first line of protection against the angry mob of half-bloods, muggleborns and families looking for vengeance. Having pureblood status was dangerous; being the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange was dangerous…_

"_Don't be ridiculous," snapped Lucius _

"_Ridiculous?" retorted Narcissa, looking at her husband with disbelief. "The Order may be weakened, but it is not broken!"_

"_The Potters are dead, Sirius in Azkaban, the Longbottoms dribbling in St. Mungo's. Oh I think the Order is quite broken," replied Lucius, turning away from his wife. "Broken beyond all repair…"_

_Narcissa shook her head. Was he still so blind? Her cerulean eyes looked past the ceiling and up to the heavens. _Gods give me strength,_ she thought as she looked back to her husband with a renewed clarity._

"_Something stopped you from joining Bella and Rodolphus," whispered Cissa, her words barely audible. "You could've gone. Why didn't you?"_

_Lucius returned his eyes to the fire watching the figures dance in the flames. Had he even heard her words?_

"_Why didn't you go, Lucius?" probed Narcissa once more; her husband's name felt alien on her tongue._

"_You know why!" shouted Lucius, rounding on his wife, his eyes burning with a fervour Narcissa had not seen in their four years of marriage. "In Merlin's name, you know why I didn't go…"_

_Narcissa shook her head, her mouth open as if to protest, but no words came out._

"_I…" began Lucius, his voice quieter now. "I can't…" He paused and looked back at the fire, his arms leaden at his sides. A soft hand intertwined with his._

"_I know," said Narcissa softly. "I know."_

_It was all she needed to hear. The two of them stood there, hand in hand, silhouetted against the glow of the firelight. His fingers were stronger than she remembered as they interlinked with her own. This one small sentiment, this one small action was a lifeline for the both of them without which they would be cast asunder into the depths of despair._

Narcissa averted her dewy cerulean eyes with a mixture of shame and loathing from where her sister lay. However, the moment she did Narcissa felt a gentle hand cupping her cheek, fingers dusting her hairline.

"We can't stay here," said Lucius, his fingers drinking in his wife's flesh. It was a sensation he had not experienced in a long time.

Narcissa nodded knowing that soon enough they would need to return to their home. She could not help but wonder whether it would still be standing, or whether it had been torn down as a relic of the old pureblood order. Narcissa subconsciously bit into her lower lip as she thought about the decline of families like her own… the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Lestranges. They were little more than worthless antiques – a vestige of a time past.

* * *

"He's asleep," murmured Narcissa as she closed the door behind her.

Lucius nodded dumbly standing on the other side of the bedroom gazing out the lead-paned window. Two Aurors were patrolling the grounds of the Malfoy estate occasionally casting wary glances up at the master bedroom where Lucius stood. It felt like they were under house arrest… prisoners in their own home. How long would it last for? How long before an enquiry into Voldemort's rise to power was ordered by the newly instated Minister for Magic? How long before he was torn from his family once more and consigned to life in Azkaban? No, he would never let it come to that. He would rather die then shame his family again. _Death would be the cowards way out,_ came Abraxas Malfoy's voice loud in his mind. _Then it suits me_, thought Lucius, resting his head against the windowpane.

Narcissa watched her husband watch the Aurors. What was he thinking? Narcissa was sure he was not thinking about the blood stains splattered over the dining room table and the great hall… Perhaps he was thinking about their son, their precious boy who was still shuddering with sobs even in the depths of sleep? Tearing her eyes from her husband, Narcissa slid into the velvet-cushioned stool before her vanity table. Her hair had lost its lustre from the smoke and dust at Hogwarts; however, she habitually picked up her hairbrush and began brushing through her hair with long, methodical strokes. It was all she could do to dam the tears that crashed inside her again and again, threatening to burst forth in an unstoppable torrent. Her eyes were focused on the haggard reflection in the mirror, but they were not seeing. They were blind, looking past the mirror at some unattainable object far away. It was because of this that she visibly jumped when Lucius put his hand on her shoulder.

"Come to bed," he said, his voice thick, the words ungainly on his tongue.

Narcissa blinked and she could see again. Her husband stood over her as he had done all those years ago, but this time he did not look half so intimidating. He looked human. The tear tracks, the worry lines, the deathly pallor were all testament to his mortality, his fragility. Laying down her gilt hairbrush, Narcissa nodded her head mutely. It felt strange truly watching her husband undress after so many years of polite aversion of the eye. Their marriage bed had been cold. They had been intimate of course, but not with the same passion that had marked their early romance at Hogwarts, a romance that had, for a time, been unfettered by the shadow of the Dark Lord. Lucius was still lean, the rounded muscle of his youth transformed into a more sinewy, wiry muscle that came about with age. His once flawless body bore the scars of the Dark Lord's rage and bidding, silvery-white blemishes criss-crossing his abdomen.

Lucius was soon down to his small clothes, his eyes fixed on Narcissa who stood on the other side of the bed. Narcissa's fingers trembled as she undid the buttons down the front of her robe. It felt like she was undressing for her wedding night all over again. The nerves were ever present, intensified by the way Lucius was looking at her and the silence that hung about them. Shrugging the heavy robes from her slight frame, Narcissa stood before her husband in a white shift. She looked like a fallen angel with vestiges of dust and ash clinging to her eyelashes and hair. Lucius silently gestured for the two of them to get into bed as he pulled back the heavy velvet and cashmere coverlets. Narcissa slid underneath the covers noting how the curtains that framed the bed frame were musty and moth-eaten. She felt the weight shifting as Lucius also climbed into bed. The bed was like an ocean with the two of them either side of it, a gulf of cold sheet dividing them. Lucius rolled on to his side and looked at his wife across the vast expanse, his hand reaching out under the heavy covers.

"You're so far away," he said, his voice betraying the slightest hint of emotion.

Narcissa blinked back the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes before she turned to face her husband. Her hand slid underneath the covers, surprised to find her fingertips brushing against his.

"You've always been so very far away," she replied, a sad smile flittering across her lips.

"I know," said Lucius, drawing a little closer to his wife, his fingertips linking with hers.

"I thought I would lose you," admitted Narcissa, closing her eyes. "Today, yesterday… I thought I would lose you everyday. I braced myself for the day you wouldn't come back."

Lucius shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"Don't," replied Narcissa, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Narcissa, I'm not going anywhere," he said again, this time with more force.

"I cannot count how many times you have said that and then gone back on your word," whispered Narcissa, her voice close to breaking. "The times you went to Durmstrang, Bulgaria, Azkaban… I think I lost you a long time ago."

Lucius Malfoy fixed his wife with a lingering look before moving close to her and pulling her towards him with strong arms. Narcissa's head rested upon Lucius chest as his arms encircled her, his fingers dancing across her smooth skin. Her eyes screwed shut as she tried to stop herself from crying, her body wanting nothing more than to give into exhausted sobs. She could hear the steady rhythm of Lucius' heart beating in his chest. Lucius was a man, a man full of imperfections and faults – the slightest irregularity in his heartbeat was testament to that.

"It is true, you lost the man I was," said Lucius, his words murmured into Narcissa's hair, "but you won't lose me."

"Promise me," she choked, her bottom lip trembling. _Gods above promise me you won't leave us.  
_"I promise you," swore Lucius, tilting his head to look into his wife's dewing eyes. "Until the end of my days and beyond."

"Do you remember the day you asked me to marry you?" began Narcissa, the words escaping from her before she could stop them. "I asked you about your love and loyalty for me… if you could remain loyal to me and love me as you loved Him."

"I remember," replied Lucius. _Those words have haunted me every day_.

"Then tell me true," continued Narcissa, looking deep in to his eyes, "did you ever love me, Lucius? Was I ever anything more than a pretty face, an old name, a suitable wife?"

A protracted silence lingered between husband and wife, a silence that Narcissa believed confirmed her original belief that he did not love her.

"Did you know that both our fathers wanted a match between Bella and I?" said Lucius, seemingly going off on a tangent. "However, I told my father I could not marry Bellatrix… I told him that my match lay elsewhere. That it lay with you. That it always lay with you."

Lucius paused profoundly as he shook his head.

"Does that not answer your question, Narcissa?" asked Lucius, gently stroking her hair. "Does that not tell you that you were more, much more, than just a name, more than just a suitable wife? Does that not tell you that I _love _you? Every day I spent in Azkaban was made bearable because of you, yet each day was marked with the fear that the Dark Lord would take his vengeance out on Draco… and you. No matter how much I buried my love for my family he knew that you and Draco were my weakness." Lucius kissed the crown of her head, his lips lingering amidst the tangle of her blonde hair. "You are still my weakness, Narcissa."

She could not stop the tears that dropped on to Lucius' naked chest. Even when he kissed her tears continued to silently trace down her cheeks, even when they made love her eyes were still misted over with tears. Only when they had both tasted ecstasy and were laying in each others arms their bodies beaded with sweat did Narcissa's tears cease, tears that had been dammed up for decades.

"The wedding night we should have had," murmured Narcissa as she lay there, the cool breeze caressing her skin.

Lucius nodded his head, his eyes lulling open and closed. The whole situation was surreal. The Dark Lord had been vanquished. They were free. Would he wake up in the morning and find Voldemort leering over him? Every time he closed his eyes those snake-like eyes bored into his mind… even in death Voldemort would not let him be. The feeling of his wife's hand closing around his anchored him to reality; thoughts of Voldemort, death and imprisonment were chased away. It would take time for the leers and the abuse to lessen, indeed it might never lessen, but Lucius could only hope that by the time Draco was his age he would not have to live as an outcast. Part of him felt sickened that the Malfoy name was dirt to the new wizarding order, but for once Lucius put his pride aside. It was a rare occurrence, but as he looked over at his wife's living, breathing silent form, all thoughts of pride, blood and legacy were shoved to the back of his mind. It could have all ended tonight, in a way it had all ended, but here they were… alive and together.

"What happens now?" asked Cissa, a blonde eyebrow arched.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Good," she said curtly. "A fresh start then?"

_A fresh start? _thought Lucius, looking up at the Malfoy crest emblazoned above them. Could they wipe the slate clean? Could they expel the Dark Lord's lingering poison from their lives? Forcing a wan smile to his lips, Lucius cast Narcissa a side glance.

"Yes," agreed Lucius, closing his eyes, the snake eyes leering at him still, "a fresh start."


End file.
